PHI SOARED ABOVE THE Dark Woods. The wind caught under her wings, and she felt the wisps slip through the ends of her individual feathers, creating a strange mix of buoyancy and instability that she had to quickly learn to control. And her wings, themselves—they were as beautiful as they were sturdy. She’d always admired Carin’s coloring, the fine places where tan stopped and dark, rich brown began. But never had she appreciated their perfect design, all the better to cut through the air, until now.

How had she gotten here? There was a vague memory of Phi’s human mind—gathering and crushing herbs in a stone bowl, breathing in the spices as she chanted in the darkness. It had hit the back of her throat and her nostrils like sparks from a campfire, where it seemed to stick and continue burning. She couldn’t breathe. Her hands had reached out, grasping for water, for air, for kindness.

And then she’d seen those same hands split and flatten. Her fingers became feathers, and suddenly the dark horizon rose up in front of her vision as her feet hardened and shrank. She scrambled on a nearby tree with thick, sharp talons that cut haphazardly into the bark. They’d ached, these new feet, as though the old ones had been literally ripped away. She tried to speak then, but all she heard was a loud shriek that filled her own ears. Her mouth was so long, so hard and curved, and the sound that came out from it had been as sharp as a rigimotive’s whistle.

The last thing she remembered was the last thing her human eyes had read: The risk is high. And if the human does not return to her original form after due time, she is bound to the shape of her kin forever. And yet even now, she could grasp that it wasn’t a risk. Forever in this form wouldn’t be long enough.

Now, Carin joined her—and she was filled with a sense of belonging and rightness. Together they flew in barrel rolls, circling each other in loops. They shot through dense thickets of trees, ducking over and under branches with not even a scratch. Phi’s bird-eyes saw the forest in wide spans, swiveling to find the best berries, the softest stoats, which she and Carin shared like family.

Just then, she spotted two other birds in the distance. They approached, gliding menacingly on large wings. Before too long it became clear they were cutting a path toward Phi and Carin. Carin dipped and swooped around, screeching for Phi to follow her back the way they came. Phi’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to execute the same maneuver, but she still wasn’t used to her wings. The two birds separated as if to circle around them, their movements efficient but unnatural. Predators. Phi’s heart, already beating so much faster than it ever had in her old life, began to vibrate.

One of the strange birds pursued her. No matter what current she rode or how hard she flapped her wings, it gained on her. Where was Carin? She was no longer certain of where she was, and disoriented, she felt it before she understood—a cold beak clamping down on her throat like a vise. She started to screech as blood dripped and matted in the feathers of her chest. The pain! She lifted her talons, scratching at the bird in vain—and she scratched not feathers and flesh but metal. Phi looked at the attacking bird for the first time and saw red, gleaming eyes.

All the knowledge of her human mind rushed back to her, and she had one, overwhelming thought: Viviana is here.