AYLA'S POV
The refugee camp was drowning in blood.
I hit the ground running, power already crackling across my skin. Silver fire erupted from my palms, incinerating the first Scentless before it could tear into a screaming child.
"Get to the center!" I roared at the scattered families. "Form a circle! NOW!"
They obeyed, terror driving them faster than training ever could. I moved through the chaos like a storm, burning everything that wore the wrong shape.
A scent lunged from my blind spot. I spun, too slow—A blade sang through the air. The creature's head hit the ground before its body knew it was dead.
"You're late," Beta Thorne said, appearing beside me. Blood streaked his face, his sword dripping black ichor. "I was starting to think you'd abandoned us."
"Never." I reached for more power, felt it surge through me—hot, wild, hungry. "How many?"
"Dozens. Maybe more. They keep coming."
"Then we keep killing them."
