It happened so quickly, Nova barely registered the last words Ixana heard before her eyes grew vacant, her lips slackened, and her body crumbled to the ground.
Aiyana rose to her feet, standing over Ixaana's body, her claws were stained crimson, and glinting faintly in the weak shafts of light breaking through the canopy above.
Nova lay a few paces behind her, sprawled in the dirt, her hair tangled and her skin slick with sweat. Unlike Aiyana, she was breathing heavily, one trembling hand pressed against the shallow cuts raked across her chest and shoulders.
Neither of them spoke. Their gazes stayed fixed on the fallen harpy eagle. Ixana's wings—once terrible and vast—were now crumpled and lifeless, feathers askew, her throat carved open in a grotesque finality.
