The hunter's dagger gleamed like a shard of midnight as she lunged, her violet eyes glinting with lethal intent, her form flickering like a shadow caught in a strobe. The warehouse's steel walls amplified the sound—her hiss, the scrape of her blade against the concrete floor, the sharp intake of breath from the Holloway family as they scattered. Elara stumbled back, her exhausted body slow to react, but Marina shoved her aside, taking the brunt of the hunter's strike. The blade grazed Marina's arm, drawing a thin line of blood, and she gasped, clutching the wound as she fell to her knees.
"Mom!" Elara cried, her voice raw as she scrambled to her mother's side, her hands sparking faintly with violet light—the last dregs of her magic, weak but desperate. The hunter spun, her laughter a cold, serpentine sound that echoed through the cavernous space, her dagger twirling in her grip as she advanced again.