Zara's breath snagged in her throat.
Winter.
But something was wrong.
His stance was too still. Rigid. His head tilted to one side, just slightly — unnaturally — like a puppet waiting for a command. Shadows clung to his outline, distorting his shape, making his shoulders seem too sharp, too tall. The flickering light above him stuttered once more… then failed completely.
Darkness swallowed the hallway.
Zara's instincts screamed.
She took a step back, clutching Leo tighter against her back. "Winter?" she whispered again, softer, more hesitant.
A rasp echoed down the corridor.
Not a voice.
Not breath.
Metal on metal.
A scraping drag.
"Mummy?" Leo's small voice piped up from her shoulder. "Is that uncle?"
Zara turned on her heel. "No. Not Winter."
The scraping quickened.
The thing stepped into the light.
And her blood turned to ice.
His face—no. Its face—was not quite right.
