Chapter 12 · Fresh Meat, New Teeth

"Stop shaking, you little parasite. You're making me nauseous," Lyra snapped. Her voice echoed off the damp stone walls of the lower corridor, sharp and impatient.

I couldn't exactly answer. I was currently a pulsing, semi-liquid blob of shadow clinging to her ankle, and my entire existence felt like it was being put through a meat grinder. Every single fiber of my reconstructed body was screaming. The evolution wasn't a smooth transition—it was a violent restructuring. I felt my edges fraying, my core burning with a hunger that made my previous starvation look like a light snack.

"I can feel you trying to eat my boot," she muttered, glancing down with a smirk that didn't reach her eyes. "Focus. If you can't handle a little growth spurt, I'll just find a rock to crush you into a permanent stain."

*Try it, bitch,* I thought, though it came out as a pathetic, wet gurgle.

I lunged upward, not to attack her, but to shift my weight. I slid up her calf, the friction of her leather gear feeling like sandpaper against my raw, sensitive membrane. I needed more. Not just the scraps of energy she was leaking—