The thing's grip tightened, bone creaking against bone. Merlin's boots scraped uselessly at the cobblestone.
Then the air… slowed.
Not cooled, not thickened, slowed.
The monster's claws froze mid-squeeze, the rumble in its throat cutting off halfway like someone had pressed pause on the world. The red glow in its fissures dulled, frozen mid-flicker. Even the loose grit in the air hung suspended, shards of stone caught in impossible stillness.
A pair of heels clicked softly against the cobblestone. Deliberate, unhurried.
Merlin tilted his head just enough to see her.
Morgana.
The Headmistress didn't rush. She didn't even look at him first, her eyes were fixed on the monster, the faintest curl of amusement at her lips. The moonlight caught in the black satin of her dress, each step making it sway like liquid.
"Well," she murmured, her voice a velvet drawl, "you've certainly found yourself a playmate."
'Playmate? It's a twelve-star death machine.'
