Rissa’s POV

The pull does not feel like falling.

It feels like being claimed.

Cold fingers wrap tighter around my wrist, and the world bends violently as the fracture opens wider behind the figure. The street, everything stretches, distorts.

“Rissa!” Mark’s voice tears through the chaos.

I reach for him.

“I’ve got you!” he shouts.

For a second, I believe it.

His hand catches mine.

Warm.

Solid.

Real.

The pull surges.

Harder.

My shoulder jerks painfully as both forces ...