Shadow-walking felt like drowning in ice.

Marina held Lyra's hand as they moved through the void between darkness and light, following the thread of Silvain's scent woven into the cloth. The shadows pressed in from all sides, cold and hungry, trying to pull them apart, to lose them forever in the endless black.

Focus, Marina commanded herself. Silvain's scent. Cedar and smoke. Pack-Alpha magic. Home.

They emerged in the Great Hall three seconds later, stumbling onto cold stone. Marina's stomach lurched with the disorientation, but Lyra simply steadied herself and looked around with sharp assessment.

"Impressive. Obsidian taught you well."

"Too well." Marina's shadow magic was already reaching out, tasting...