Jonas pulls at my arm and Kizia shoves his body away so fast, he lands hard on his back ten feet away, moaning.

The goruchel leans close, hovering over me. “Show me that power, little girl. How did it go again…” Her hand wraps around my throat and she squeezes just like before, this time digging her claws into the skin of my neck—and the root in my fists flares bright, lighting her face in glowing red and orange. “Yessss.” She grins triumphantly, pulls me up halfway, and brings my right hand directly to her mouth. But the second her lips touch my root she throws my arm away like it had burned her all over again.

“Fuck!” she yells, eyes wide. “No way… no, no…”

I collapse to the ground, air whistling through my throat, eyes watering. This time, she’s the one scrambling, a red streak across the lawn, cursing and yowling. I’ve never seen a goruchel consume aether the way that the hellfoxes do, never seen one try and take it in deliberately. And never expected one to attack me, then react like I’d somehow attacked her.

“Goddamnit, no.” Kizia wipes the back of her hand across her lips, like she’s trying to clean my root from her mouth.

Nearby, Jonas pushes to his feet. The stunned look on his face says he doesn’t know what’s happening to Kizia either.

“SELWYN!”

William.

I see William at the door, backlit by the yellow kitchen light. Aether armor ripples into place across his body as he bears down on the startled Kizia.

Crashing sounds echo through the forest.

Close. Closer.

Here.

Kizia speeds away from William, toward the driveway—and Sel barrels into her, body a furious black blur overhead. They tumble end over end, all growls and fangs.

I twist on my side. Push up onto an elbow in the dirt. A searing arc of pain shoots across my shoulders from where Kizia had twisted them in her grip.

William’s aether armor is fully formed now, illuminating the yard in glowing silver and blue.

Helmet. Shining pauldrons. Gauntlets. Leg armor. Chain mail flowing under and between.

He circles Jonas with an aether dagger in each hand.

Jonas has produced his own pair of metal blades, face bruised and bloody.

“Jonas,” William says warningly. “Whatever you’re doing—”

Jonas lunges, swipes. His weapon grazes William’s chestplate with a high-pitched, metallic screech. William jumps back, surprise flashing across his features.

“Been doing this a lot longer than you have, kid.” Jonas smirks. “How long can you hold that armor in place, do you think?”

William lowers his chin. “Long enough to stop you.”

William dives toward Jonas, blades shimmering. Jonas is the larger, older opponent, but he doesn’t seem to have lost any speed. He dodges William’s attacks by striking, snakelike, before withdrawing just as quickly. A slash against a gauntlet. A swipe at the chain mail at his elbow.