I didn't move.
The hand kept coming. Wrist, then forearm, pushing through the crack in the earth like the soil was water. The skin was pale, too pale, almost translucent. And on the palm, the crescent scar-exact, burning bright as mine.
My own hand ached in response, the scar flaring until I thought the bone would split.
"Lila," Draven said again, and this time his voice wasn't fear. It was fury. He shifted between me and the ridge, his body coiling, ready to strike. The black scar on his chest pulsed with the bond, feeding off my terror.
The hand gripped the edge of the crack. Fingers dug into the dirt. And then it pulled.
A face broke the surface.
My face.
But wrong.
The eyes were mine, gold and wide, but the pupils were slitted like a wolf's. The mouth curved in a smile I'd neve
