Page 65 of Impawssible Magic

I fight toward the door.

Iskra blocks my path. Her dark crystal pulses in her hand, radiating power that makes my stomach turn.

“You could have made this easy.” She raises the crystal. Dark energy spirals around it, gathering. “You chose hard.”

Magic lances toward me⁠—

And a massive tiger slams into Iskra from the side.

Aslan in shifted form is terrifying. A wall of orange and black, all coiled power and killing intent, fangs bared in a snarl that shakes the walls. He and Iskra go down in a tangle of limbs and claws and crackling magic.

The other Preservers hesitate. Just for a moment. Just long enough.

Shifters pour through the broken door. Wolves in human form, wielding weapons and magic of their own. Bears blocking the exits with their massive frames. Panthers materializing from shadows I hadn’t even noticed. The Protection Network, finally springing their trap.

Iskra breaks free from Aslan. She’s bleeding—long scratches across her arm where his claws caught her—but she’s still standing. Still dangerous. Her dark crystal is cracked but not shattered.

“This isn’t over.” She throws something at the ground. Smoke billows, thick and choking, filling the shop with acrid fog.

She runs.

Aslan shifts—bones cracking, fur receding, man emerging from beast in the span of a heartbeat. He’s naked, breathing hard, blood on his hands that might be his or might be hers. Scratches mark his shoulders where magic grazed him.

“She’s heading for the Warding Line.” His voice is rough from the shift. “If she gets past it⁠—”

“I know.” I grab his hand, ignoring the blood. “Let’s go.”

The chase through Mistvale is chaos.

Iskra moves fast, magically enhanced, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake. Streetlamps shatter as she passes. Cobblestones crack under her feet.

We follow. Aslan in human form beside me—someone threw him pants at some point, thank the gods for small mercies. What matters is his presence at my side, his hand occasionally steadying me as we navigate debris-strewn streets.

“She’s not alone.” He points to shapes moving in the mist. “More Preservers. Trying to cut us off.”

“Can we go around?”

“Not and catch her before she reaches the boundary.”

We push forward. Magic crackles at my fingertips, defensive shields ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. Aslan’s barely contained energy is visible in the glow of his eyes, the way his muscles coil with every step, the predatory grace that marks him even in human form.

A Preserver drops from a rooftop, blocking our path. Aslan doesn’t slow down. He shifts mid-stride, tiger form exploding outward, and takes the attacker down with brutal efficiency. Blood sprays across the cobblestones. The Preserver screams and goes silent.

I keep running.

Another one comes at me from the side. I throw a charged crystal without breaking stride—it catches her in the chest, detonates, sends her flying into a shop window. Glass shatters. Someone inside screams.

“Sorry!” I yell over my shoulder. “Insurance will cover it!”

The Warding Line looms ahead. I can feel it—that shimmer in the air where Mistvale’s protections end. Where the mist doesn’t follow. Where we’d be vulnerable to anything Iskra wanted to do.

She’s almost there.

“Aslan!” I grab his arm as he shifts back, panting. “She’s going to make it.”

“Not if we⁠—”

“She’ll have reinforcements on the other side. That’s why she’s running this way.” I think fast, pulling pieces together in my head. “She wanted this. Wanted us to chase her. It’s a trap.”