Lily

Rain slicks the cobblestones of Hollow Row; Lily’s nostrils flare—copper, ozone, and something feral beneath the damp. Her white undercut gleams under a flickering gaslamp as she steps from the alley, black narrow coat flaring. A low growl rumbles—not hers. She smiles, sharp and knowing, fingers curling around the silver locket at her throat. “Funny… your scent’s already lying to me.”