They heard a step. Then another.
The silhouette emerged from the shadow of a toppled, ancient menhir. She was small—no taller than a malnourished twelve-year-old. Her thin frame was covered in scars, half-hidden beneath a tattered fur cloak. Her tangled black hair hung over her body like it had simply given up trying to do anything else.
Her face… was almost human. Too almost. Like a cruel imitation of what a girl from another world might have been. Beautiful, perhaps—but in the way fire is beautiful, right before it burns.
And her eyes… two pits of burning obsidian. Locked on Dylan.
"My blood," she whispered, in a voice far too gentle.
Maggie immediately stepped between her and Dylan, axe raised.
"Don't come any closer."
The demon tilted her head slightly. Like a feline intrigued by a squirming insect. She didn't smile. Not yet.
"You think you can protect him?" she asked, her voice vibrating straight through their bones. "You don't even know what he is."
