Geralt moved first, his body a blur. Black lightning coiled around him like living serpents, hissing and writhing as they traced the length of his arms. Sparks danced along his shoulders, crawling toward the claw-shaped blaze forming around his hands. With a sudden lunge, he swung, the claw of lightning tearing through the air with a sound like ripping metal.
Isobel slipped away by a hair's breadth, the heat of the strike grazing her cheek as she propelled herself backward, wings of energy carrying her into the open sky. The wind from Geralt's attack whipped around her, sharp enough to sting her skin.
But Geralt was already in pursuit.
"Stop moving!" she snapped, her eyes flaring crimson.
That glow locked onto him, invisible tendrils of compulsion digging into his mind. Geralt's forward momentum faltered—his pupils dilated, his body freezing mid-stride. For a few precious seconds, he was caught, like a beast snared in a hunter's trap.
That was all the time she needed.
