All eyes remained fixed on Miss T. Every heart in the room willed the best outcome, every breath held in unison, the world shrinking to the space Miss T. occupied. She lay there, helpless. The air was thick, saturated with a fragile kind of hope. Then, from the basement, the door creaked open and a shadow slithered forth.

  It moved with intent, creeping up the walls like ink spilled into water, slithering around the corners, stretching itself thin to watch from the room's edges. Emerging was a silhouette strikingly like Miss T.

  But it was not her.

  Typical. Just typical. Even in the throes of death, she couldn’t help but be the center of everyone’s attention. Always the focus of their care, their worries, their affections. And yet, no one noticed her.

  Not yet.

  Above them all, perched high in the rafters on a single leg, the crane, Aurum, watched. Its sharp eyes gleamed as it preened, appearing aloof, its long beak dipping under its wing. It had already seen it, however—the flicker of motion, the ripple of something moving between spaces, gliding through the fractures of light and dark.

  Aurum cocked his head, watching as the shadow swam through the room like a shark in deep waters, her path inevitable. Her target, undeniable. Miss T.

  The shadow knew this space well—every creaking board, every slant in the floor, every passage unseen by those who didn’t belong to it. She had walked these paths a thousand times. Silently, fluidly, she moved closer, gliding across the wooden planks with effortless grace. She was so close now, so close to ending this.

  No more lies. No more half-truths. No more Miss T., she thought. Only me.

  Aurum let out a piercing cry.

  The spell of silence was shattered and banished, yanking the room’s focus back from Miss T. to the space around her. A low growl rumbled from the Winter Warden’s wolf, his head snapping toward the bar, his glacier-blue eyes locking onto the shadow. Aurum had spoken to it in a language older than words. A Primal voice in tune with the rhythm of all walking the wild path. Burning green eyes flared from the darkness. The shadow lunged, surging forward. Her outstretched fingers curled like talons as she reached for Miss T.’s throat.

  In a blur of white and fury, the Winter Warden’s wolf launched himself into the air, all six paws colliding mid-leap with the shadow, tackling her before her grasp could close. The two forms slammed into the back wall behind the bar, a violent crash muffled by the impact of bodies hitting hardwood.

  The entire exchange happened within a single breath. The moment of secrecy was lost, and the element of surprise was undone. Every immortal in the room turned toward the shadow behind the bar, as the sound of hammering and the sharp crack of bone against wood rang out. A canine’s pained whimper, cut off by a snarl, pierced the cacophony. Barking and the sounds of a vicious pursuit followed. A punishing onslaught.

  “I was too late.” Bones’s voice rattled through the room, his form clattering as he wavered between senses, holding in a liminal space. His presence flickered, strained by the weight of his task. His words were raw with effort, desperate. No longer could he split his focus. “There were two Miss T.’s that fell. I only caught one in the story.” He shuddered, barely holding himself together. “The other fell here.”

  The weight of his words hung heavy. His fingers twitched. After a fleeting moment of hesitation, he forced himself back to his work, an urgent clatter of bone on bone. “The story must go on. Stop her!”

  As if in cruel response, a shadowed, gnarled hand, slick with dark ichor, reached up from behind the bar. The fingers flexed, spasming, twisting unnaturally. With a slow, deliberate motion, the hand found the faucet and turned it once. Water surged forth, but this was not the gentle, familiar sound of flowing streams or soft rainfall. No, this was something else entirely. It roared like a violent, vengeful torrent, like a thousand crashing tides, dragging ships screaming into the abyss.

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  The deep, guttural growl came from the depths. Something ancient lurked beneath the waves, something that had waited for eons to swallow the world whole. The water twisted, writhed, and became faces. Six faces.

  Six fanged, serpentine mandibles, each shrieking with a voice of its own in an unholy chorus of different octaves, each discordant, each unnatural. Shadow T. had spoken a different name of water, one more filled with anguish and pain. The name of Scylla.

  No more words were spoken. The immortals moved in unison, stepping between Miss T. and the thing that had risen in her shadow. The shadow did not hesitate. She launched herself toward the left of the room, toward the fireplace, toward her prey.

  But the Summer Warden would not allow this. Not while a life was still worth fighting for. Not while there was still a chance. With a flicker of motion and a flash of golden fire, he launched himself between the shadow and the fireplace, his movements a blur of speed and certainty. His hand unclasped the hilt at his side, and with a ringing shhhhk, Dusk was drawn, its edge singing as it cut through the air, glowing with heat. The tip gleamed like a shard of captured sunlight, pulsing with a slow-burning radiance, waiting to pierce the heart of this wretched creature.

  Shadow T. saw her ruin at the tip of that blade. She did not waver, for not many things could move faster than the speed of dark. Before his strike could land, she folded herself through the space between light and void, vanishing, as though stepping through a doorway. Just as quickly as she vanished, she emerged behind him, sliding through thin air, and she did not emerge alone.

  The Summer Warden felt the shift before he saw it, whirling just in time to meet another blade. A blade that clashed against his own in a burst of dark fire. A figure stood before him, mirroring his stance, his movements, and his very essence, save for one glaring truth. It was a blade not of sunlight but of void. A blackened twin, a shadow given substance made solid.

  “No,” the Summer Shadow intoned, his voice a cool echo of the Summer Warden’s own. “I will not allow harm to come to my lady while she still stands. Unlike you.”

  “EN GARDE!”

  The Summer Warden fell into stance, his blade meeting the other in a flurry of strikes. Dark and light sparks snapped through the air, the rapid clang of steel-on-steel filling the space like an iron symphony. While they dueled, Shadow T. surged forward, unimpeded if it weren’t for Hector, the water buffalo, who would not suffer this atrocity.

  With a bellowing roar, he thundered forward, his hooves hammering the ground with an earthshaking force. He struck Shadow T. with the weight of a storm, slamming her back against the fireplace and pinning her beneath his massive form. Her fingers clawed desperately, slipping toward the edge of the flames where shadows danced and twisted within the hearth.

  She spoke the name of fire. She did not whisper it. She howled it, pouring all her pain, rage, and fear into the name. The fire answered. A wave of wrath, pure and unbridled, exploded outward from the fireplace. The force struck Hector like a tidal wave of molten fury, sending him skidding back, his hooves gouging the wooden floor. From the fire, another form began to rise.

  Thick, muscled arms stretched out of the inferno, veins pulsing with molten embers. Its head—bull-like but twisted with something ancient—emerged next, crowned with horns charred black from Pyra’s endless fire maze, which it called home. It exhaled sharply through its nose, and the thick steam that billowed forth was heavy with ash. The Minotaur had come.

  Before Hector could recover, the fiery beast charged, locking its massive arms around his neck, pushing forward with a strength that rivaled his own. The two collided creatures strained, their hooves grinding against the floorboards as they struggled for dominance. Steam hissed from where the Minotaur’s molten grip met the Buffalo’s fur, black smoke curling around them as they grappled in the center of the room, locked in a battle of raw power.

  Two gunshots cracked through the air. Shadow T. spasmed, her form jerking violently as two tiny holes punctured her body. Her figure flickered, the integrity of her shape beginning to falter. Her burning green eyes snapped across the room, locking onto Benjamin, his gun glowing blue, still raised. He was in a ready stance, preparing for another volley.

  The six-headed water beast twisted, its serpentine forms writhing, its heads whipping in every direction. Its many-throated screech rang out as it lashed forward in a wild frenzy, knocking LunaMontis off their feet, sending the Boy with the Red Violin tumbling across the floor, and throwing itself between Shadow T. and further danger. With her monstrous creation covering her advance, Shadow T. pressed forward, her eyes locked onto her new prey. Benjamin. Fragile. Mortal. Breakable.