On the seventh night, Adria manifested at length for the first time since they'd entered the Dominion.
It was late. Huifen had retreated to her room, still careful but no longer flinching at every demon face she encountered on the street, which Azrail considered measurable progress. She'd started the week jumping at shadows, her fox instincts kicking in at the sight of horns or red eyes, but now she could walk a full block without her tail illusion twitching under stress.
He'd seen her practice in the mirror that morning, holding the demonic guise steady for longer stretches, muttering reminders to herself about posture and gaze. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep them under the radar in Ravenmoor's crowded districts. Azrail had left her with a simple task: review the basic clan etiquettes he'd outlined, to build confidence for the days ahead.
