Trixie's voice faded, the words still hanging as static buzzed faintly in her comm. Gary hadn't even finished his next sentence when Elle moved.
Not a step. Not a dash. Not even a flicker in her stance.
One moment she was standing. The next—gone.
What remained was her echo. That semi-transparent figure that had loomed behind her like a mirage, a blur with edges that didn't sit right, now shifted.
It glided forward in stuttering movements—frames skipping across the distance between her and Rose like a broken film reel.
Each flicker left behind faint imprints, fading like breath on glass, scattered like exhaust.
Trixie didn't blink—but her eyes widened. "...Wait—"
Rose saw it too.
Her already unnerving stare somehow widened. That cracked-glass clarity in her eyes snapped tighter.
Then, Elle was there.
Her real body—not the echo—materialized directly in front of Rose, crouched low with one arm raised, fingers extended like claws. She slashed downward—one clean, savage arc.
