Sera moved while they were arguing with possibilities.
Like she wasn't real.
Like she wasn't a threat.
A mask turned into an elbow, a chest into a car door, a knee into ground.
She did not need claws when teeth were enough, but she used what she had.
Leather split under her nails like paper and the smell that lifted made the creature inside her praise her by name. She was the cleanest kind of alive—warm blood, warm breath, the rhythm of her heart matching Luci's as he worried bone and something else cracked somewhere tender.
"Back!" the leader barked finally, finally—because he had realized they were feeding her the very thing that made her sharper, steadier, harder to frighten. "Back!"
But it was too late for two.
Too late for three.
Sera took a fourth by the collar and turned him so the arterial spray went where she wanted it.
She was kind that way.
