Tila exhaled, shadows coiling faintly at her feet.
It was like her blood knew before her brain did—the moment the collar came off, something cold and electric surged through her veins.
Not violent. Not explosive.
Controlled.
But hungry.
"Your leg," Kael said, still crouched beside her, chest heaving. "You're bleeding."
Tila looked down, and for the first time noticed the long red streak down her thigh.
A bullet—grazing wound.
Deep enough to hurt.
Not deep enough to stop her.
She wiped the blood away with her hand and snarled. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Kael said. "You need to heal. Go to your room—"
"I need to get to Lila," she snapped.
Kael paused. Her tone wasn't just urgency. It was protective. Fierce.
He nodded.
"Alright. I'll get her collar off. Make me a wall."
Tila didn't hesitate.
A pulse of shadow exploded at her feet, rising in a jagged wave like liquid obsidian.
Within seconds, the kitchen was sealed off from the living room.
