The scene below was chaos. A young woman—Erica, though he didn't know her name yet—was backed against a graffiti-strewn wall, her wide eyes locked on the thing advancing toward her. It was a creature of living shadow, its form shifting and writhing like smoke given shape. It had the vague outline of a man, but its features were distorted, its eyes glowing like embers in a dying fire. Jonathan had seen these things before. Shadowlings. Nasty, unpredictable, and deadly. Erica's chest heaved as she clutched a rusted pipe in her trembling hands, her goth attire—ripped fishnets, a tattered trench coat—making her look like a cornered animal. But there was something in her eyes, a flicker of defiance, that caught Jonathan's attention. She wasn't just scared; she was angry.