Her grip was like iron.
Bobby barely had time to scream before Margaret’s hand was around his throat, slamming him backward into the alley wall. Pain exploded behind his eyes. His breath caught in his throat, strangled by panic and pressure.
Margaret’s face hovered inches from his—expressionless, eyes glowing faintly in the dark like embers buried under ash.
“You run like a child,” she whispered. “But you belong to time now. And we're running out of time.”
---
Bobby clawed at her hand. Kicked at her shins. Nothing worked. Her grip tightened.
Spots flickered in his vision. The world tilted. He could barely hear her now—just fragments through a buzz of blood in his ears.
“Bob’s shadow is growing,” she said. “You either fade… or become it.”
Something cracked in Bobby’s chest. The weig
