The humming is wrong. Too soft. Too close.

  He steps out of the mist wearing someone else’s body.

  The skin hangs loose, stitched badly at the neck and wrists. One eye droops lower than the other. The smile is stretched too wide, like it’s borrowed too.

  Snatcher.

  “Ohhhh,” he croons. “So many faces. Which one should I keep?”

  The swamp ripples as he moves, shadows clinging to him like wet cloth.

  Danny feels Shawny tense beside him. Fang spreads his wings slightly. Sir Dracks says nothing.

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  Big B steps forward.

  “I’ll take him.”

  Snatcher laughs, peeling the skin off his arm to reveal writhing darkness beneath. “You? You look… breakable.”

  Big B doesn’t answer.

  When Snatcher lunges, it’s fast—too fast—but Big B meets him head-on. Shadow claws rake across Big B’s chest. Blood hits the mud.

  Snatcher freezes.

  Big B is still standing.

  He grabs Snatcher’s throat.

  “I don’t care what you wear,” Big B growls. “You’re still just meat.”

  What follows is violent and final. No spell. No trick. Just raw force, intelligence, and fury.

  When it ends, Snatcher’s skins collapse empty into the swamp.

  Dead.

  Sir Dracks exhales slowly.

  “No one,” he says, “has ever killed him.”

  Big B wipes his hands. “Guess he met the wrong day.”