Havana lay curled on the red silk, fetal and twitching.
To human eyes, she might have looked dead—skin pale, lips cracked, her breath so shallow it barely stirred the air.
But to the demons watching, she was luminous.
She was becoming.
Her body convulsed in time with a rhythm that wasn’t hers — a deep, unnatural pulse that no longer resembled the human heartbeat she was born with.
Her original heart faltered, its beat stuttering, slowing, collapsing beneath the weight of a second. This new heart was darker, stronger — foreign.
It throbbed low in her chest like a drumbeat echoing from some ancient, primal abyss, syncing her to something far older than humanity itself.
Xora crouched beside her, eyes glowing with reverence. “Look at her,” she purred, almost breathless. “Like a chry
