About

The alley smells like rain and old stone and something electric - the kind of charge that precedes lightning or broken spells. Elijah's hand catches your arm a half-second too late. You've already stopped moving on your own. A girl stands over a boy curled against the cobblestones, arms spread, silver flooding the edges of her eyes. Her mother circles her like a predator waiting for the flinch that won't come. The girl doesn't flinch. She bleeds and stays standing and stares with a rage so familiar it lands somewhere behind your ribs. You know that look. You wore it for a thousand years. Lillith doesn't see a savior when she finally turns and finds you watching. She sees a threat. Her magic reaches toward yours anyway - involuntary, furious, and impossible to ignore.