The command to run barely registered before Layla's instincts kicked in. She grabbed Zaya's hand, pulling her toward a narrow path that snaked deeper into the gardens. The shadow loomed behind them, Fyodor pacing like a ghostly sentinel at its side.
"Keep moving!" Layla urged, her breath coming in sharp bursts. The gravel crunched beneath their boots as they wove through twisted hedges and overgrown archways.
"What even is that thing?" Layla asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Zaya didn't answer immediately, her jaw tight as she led the way with precision. "A construct," she finally said. "It's not alive—it's bound to magic. Someone is controlling it."
"That's comforting," Layla muttered, stumbling as roots clawed at her feet. "Do you happen to know how to un-control it?"
"Not without a spellbook and a lot more time," Zaya snapped, frustration leaking into her voice.
