The Winter Warden felt the shift; his instincts screamed for him to move, to intervene, but he could not leave Miss T.’s side. She was his companion, his friend—his priority. His breath hitched, but as his gaze darted to Mister D., he saw the same unspoken choice in his face.

  They would not leave her, but they wouldn’t do nothing. The Winter Warden took a sharp, long breath, filling his lungs, preparing, allowing winter to surge forward.

  And then—

  Mister D. could not believe this shit.

  First, a Myth Eater. Then Bones. Then, the shadow version of one of his oldest friends. If today had a spot on the calendar—and if time itself hadn’t already thoroughly gone to hell—it would be a Monday.

  His eyes flickered back to Terra, Miss T., then lingered on Bones, holding there for a long moment. He couldn’t let him go. Not again. Not after last time. The moment the opportunity arose, perhaps when the conclave was done, when the balance shifted, he would end this dance between them.

  Right now, he had more pressing matters. His gaze snapped back across the coffee shop, tracking Shadow T. as she twisted and wove through the watery limbs of her summoned monster. She moved with perfect synchronicity, using the beast’s liquid form as a shifting shield, bullets decelerating inside the beast only to fall slowly to the floor around her as she closed in.

  The Night Beetle moved. Calm. Unshaken. Stepping forward as if merely passing through a garden path. She placed herself directly in Shadow T.’s path, tilting her head with that ever-unreadable serenity.

  “This is not like you, friend,” she murmured, her voice smooth as still water. “Please, stop this. Serve us more coffee instead.”

  Shadow T. did not stop. Instead, she descended. She ducked down and slipped into the Night Beetle’s very shadow, her form unraveling, melting into the darkness beneath her feet. Then reemerging- surging up in the very same instant, again with company. From the shadow of the Night Beetle, another figure came with her, a negative variation. They surged forward.

  Shadow T. appeared before Benjamin in a flash of motion, her form snapping toward him like a whip. He barely had time to react, barely enough to throw his arms up before her teeth sank into his flesh. Pain seared through him. His fingers and part of his ear, gone. Then the air shifted.

  A violent compression slammed into Shadow T. The weight of reality itself turned against her, dragging her downward with an unforgiving force, the very gravity adjusting around her like the weight of an unseen hand. It saved Benjamin’s life.

  Benjamin, breath ragged, hands slick with blood and adrenaline, tightened his grip on the pistol. His arms trembled, not with fear, but with the raw fury of survival. His eyes locked onto Shadow T., the abyssal thing that had nearly torn him apart. He raised the now mystical gun. He aimed.

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  The space around them folded. Like an invisible ribbon winding too tight, reality compressed, snapped, and lashed outward. Benjamin was ripped from the ground. The world spun violently as he was hurled through the air, his back slamming into the far wall with a sickening crunch. He had no time to hit the ground before one of Scylla’s many heads slammed into him, pinning him in place.

  The Night Beetle turned. Her gaze met her counterpart’s, her mirror image, an echo of herself standing in perfect mimicry. A hollow reflection. A thing not born but left behind.

  Across the room, a spear of black ice lanced through one of Scylla’s thrashing necks, striking deep into its shifting form. The moment it connected, frost rippled outward, crawling down the beast’s liquid flesh in jagged veins of frozen midnight.

  LunaMontis seized the moment. They gripped the frozen column that had pinned them down, and with an effort of sheer will of a mountain and a flash of moonlight, shattered it into shards. In the same motion, they launched themself into the air, their form catching the glint of firelight and shadow as they twisted toward the drowning Boy with the Red Violin. His hand flailed above the water’s surface, reaching for rescue. LunaMontis reached back. They trusted the Winter Warden, trusted that he would not miss.

  The Winter Warden reached deep, past flesh and bone, into the pit of his being. His breath turned to ice, his stomach churned with the unbearable weight of his magic, and then he vomited forth a violent torrent of winter’s core.

  A spear of eternal cold took shape in midair, the air around it snapping into a brittle frost. He hurled it forward. The first spear struck true, piercing another of Scylla’s writhing heads, the ice spreading instantly, locking the beast’s form into a frozen death. The second found its mark, splitting the watery throat that held the violinist hostage. Several of the creature's heads shattered.

  LunaMontis caught the boy midair. His breath came in sharp, desperate gasps, but he was alive. Benjamin was not so lucky and struck the ground hard. Releasing a groan that only the truly experienced in pain can ever make.

  The Winter Warden exhaled, scanning the battlefield, prepared to summon another lance, but something made him hesitate. Bliss. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t reacted. She sat there, untouched, unperturbed, her expression unreadable, behind her veil. He had always known she was powerful and old, but at that moment, he wondered how old? Before he could dwell on it, Shadow T. struck again.

  Her jaw unhinged grotesquely, releasing whatever fresh flesh she had torn from Benjamin. The mangled remains hit the floor with a wet thud. She screamed.

  A raw, jagged, banshee wail tore through the air. The force of it sent shockwaves through the space, stunning the room into a moment of frozen inertia, propelling her retreat.

  Shadow T. moved, leaping onto the bar. Protected by what was left of her watery demon, her burning green eyes scanned the chaos below, recalculating her path to her prey. Her dying self.

  So close, I can almost taste it now, she thought. The despair in the room.

  Then the Shadow Beetle raised her hands, her voice cold and unyielding as it sliced through the chaos.

  “Listen closely,” she began, each word dripping with bitter finality, “the older ones never cared about you. They never wanted you at all. You weren’t forgotten—they were happy to discard you, to treat you as nothing more than a disposable tool.” Her tone hardened, lashing out like a blade of ice. “Your usefulness expired the moment you were born. You were never cherished, only exploited for their own ascendance. The truth isn’t wrapped in love—it’s a raw wound, and you were never meant to be saved.”

  The space between them folded, and the world swam in ugly, violent distortion.