The doppelgänger laughed, the sound hollow and wrong. "The tiger thinks he can protect you. How noble. How doomed."
More shadows lashed out, faster this time. Tristan dodged, his movements impossibly quick, combat training meeting shifter reflexes. His knife flashed in the moonlight, cutting through shadow that tried to wrap around his throat.
Maren scrambled backward, her own shadows responding sluggishly. The doppelgänger's presence disrupted her magic, pulled at it like a lodestone dragging iron. She tried to summon defensive wards, but her power kept slipping away, drawn toward the construct wearing her face.
"You can't fight me with shadow," the doppelgänger said, advancing on Tristan. "I am shadow. Your magic feeds me. Yourfear strengthens me. Every accusation they throw at you makes me more real and you less so."
Tristan shifted partially, his eyes blazing with predatory light. The transformation was controlled, deliberate enough to bring speed and strength to the surface without losing human reasoning.
He moved like liquid violence, ducking under shadow strikes, closing the distance between himself and the construct. His knife found purchase in the doppelgänger's shoulder.
The creature shrieked, a sound that split the night like breaking glass. Where the blade cut, instead of blood, darkness poured out like smoke. The wound began closing almost immediately, shadow knitting back together.
"You can't kill what was never alive," it hissed.
"Maybe not." Tristan yanked the knife free. "But I can slow you down."
He struck again, targeting joints, going for damage that would hinder movement. Each cut released more shadow-smoke, and each wound healed slower than the last. The doppelgänger's perfect mimicry started breaking down, movements becoming jerky, facial features flickering between Maren's and something else entirely.
Maren forced herself to stand, legs shaking. Her magic was useless against this thing, but she couldn't just hide while Tristan fought alone. She grabbed a fallen branch, anything solid, anything real.
The doppelgänger's attention snapped to her. "There you are. Hiding behind your protector like the coward you've always been."
"I'm not hiding." Maren stepped forward despite every instinct screaming to run. "And I'm not afraid of a poor copy wearing my face."
"Liar." The creature's smile turned vicious. "I can taste your fear. It's delicious."
Shadows exploded outward in all directions, a desperate attack meant to overwhelm through sheer volume. Tristan grabbed Maren and rolled, covering her body with his as darkness crashed over them like a wave.
The impact drove air from her lungs. Tristan's weight pressed her into snow, his arms locked around her head protectively. Shadow scraped across his back, tearing through his coat, and she felt him tense but didn't hear him cry out.
Then the attack stopped.
Tristan lifted his head cautiously. The doppelgänger stood several feet away, its form flickering like a candle in wind. The sustained attack had cost it something, destabilized its cohesion.
"This isn't over," it said, voice degrading into multiple overlapping whispers. "I'll be back. Stronger. More real. And next time, the tiger won't save you."
It dissolved into shadow-smoke, dispersing into the darkness between trees. Within seconds, nothing remained except gouged earth and the lingering smell of burnt copper.
Maren lay in the snow, shaking, barely processing what had just happened. Tristan rolled off her slowly, his breathing harsh.
"You're hurt," she managed, seeing blood seeping through his torn coat.
"I'm fine. Superficial." He pulled her upright with careful hands. "We need to move. Now. Before it comes back."
Her legs wouldn't hold her. The terror she'd kept locked down during the attack hit all at once, making her knees buckle. Tristan caught her before she hit the ground, one arm supporting her weight.
"I've got you," he said quietly. "Just hold on."
He carried her back to the truck as they took off toward the safe house. Maren pressed her face against his shoulder, breathing in smoke and pine and the copper scent of blood.
Her blood. Her face. Her magic twisted into something that wanted her destroyed.
"It's real," she whispered. "It's actually real."
"Yeah. And now we know what we're fighting." Tristan's voice stayed steady despite the circumstances. "That's more than we had an hour ago."
They reached the safe house and Tristan practically kicked the door open, dragging them both inside before slamming it shut and throwing every bolt and ward into place. Only then did he let her slide to the floor, her back flat against the wall, her whole body shaking.
