The air cracked, then shattered, a thunderous explosion splitting the midnight silence.
The matte-black car where Lila and Tila had sat moments ago detonated like a bomb, its frame splintering into countless shards of black shadow that sliced through the moonlight like razors, tearing into the pavement.
The blast hurled the twins towards opposite sides, their bodies twisting mid-air, landing in low, predatory crouches, already moving.
Their skin shimmered black, limbs dissolving and reforming as patches of living shadow, their forms fluid, lethal, their black gowns rippling like liquid night, their black eyes glinting with defiance.
Across the wreckage, the Reaper stood unmoved, a void against the flickering streetlights, her cloak billowing in the still air.
Her red eyes burned like twin coals, her grin—wide, unhinged, ravenous—baring a hunger that froze the blood.
