Smoke filled the corridor, thick and suffocating, burning his throat as he hit the ground hard, rolling onto his side. The acrid sting of the alchemical residue clung to his skin.
Through the chaos, heavy footsteps—running.
Rell’s mind was locked ononething.
“Elora,” he rasped. His vision still swam, but he forced himself to his feet, pushing past the ringing in his ears. “Violette—help me.”
Violette was already moving, her silhouette cutting through the dissipating smoke as she rushed toward where Elora had fallen. Thankfully, Fane hadn’t attempted to take her with him when he ran. He probably knew they would be in quick pursuit. That just meant that he would be back though.
She was slumped against the wall, half-conscious, her head tilted awkwardly to the side. Her breathing waswrong—too shallow, too uneven. Like her body wasn’t sure what the hell to do.
Rell dropped to a crouch in front of her, his hands hovering near her shoulders but not touching.
“Hey. Look at me. You okay?”
Her head shifted, her eyes flickering open. Rell felt his breath catch. Her pupils weren’t normal.
They weren’t evenhuman.
Thin, slitted like a cat’s, gleaming gold. And her hands—shit. Her nails had sharpened into claws, twitching against her lap as though they didn’t belong to her.
Rell went still. A slow, twisting feeling curled in his gut, something uneasy and sharp. “What the hell…” he muttered, his voice trailing off.
Violette crouched beside him. “What… is this?”
Symond finally caught up, coughing into his sleeve as he leaned against the wall. “She’s alive, right?” His tone was casual, but there was somethingoffin his voice—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer to be yes or no.
No one answered.
Frowning, he stepped closer, peering over Rell’s shoulder. His breath hitched. “What in the hellisthat?”
Elora blinked up at them, her pupils narrow slits. Her breath was still ragged, but steadying, though the tension in her body wasallwrong—too rigid, too coiled.
Then, she noticed it too.
Her claws—sharp, curved, deadly—caught the flickering light, and her expressioncracked.
“No,” she whispered. Then again, louder.“No, no, no, no—”
“Elora,” Rell cut in quickly. “Stop.”
She wasn’t even looking at him. Her breathing hitched, growing too fast, too erratic. He reached out, fingers wrapping around her trembling hands.
“You’re okay,” he said, softer now. “You’re okay.”
Her gaze snapped to his. And Rell nearly flinched.
Not because of the slitted pupils, or the fangs barely peeking out behind parted lips. But because of thefear. Not fear of them. Fear ofherself.
“You don’t understand,” she rasped, her voice breaking.
Rell exchanged a glance with Violette.Yeah, noshit we don’t.
He studied Elora closer. Blood caked beneath her nails. Hair tangled, wild. Bruises already forming along her arms and throat. The blood told a story. Fane’s disheveled appearance—it all pointed to one thing. She’d put up a fight.
A damn good one, too.
Rell couldn’t help but feel a twinge of admiration. Who was this girl? How had she taken on someone like Fane and lived to tell the tale? And then there was the matter of her claws, her fangs, and those eyes.
