“You’re not supposed to exist.”

Shadow-Lyla’s voice cracked into the night, half snarl, half disbelief. Her eyes, sharp silver, identical to Lyla's, narrowed on the figure emerging from the smoke.

The newcomer said nothing. She drifted forward like the air carried her, every step silent, every movement unnervingly fluid. Her cloak hung heavy with shadow, dripping like liquid night. No features. No flesh. Just the vague silhouette of a woman and a pulse of magic that made every wolf ...