The rain had recently stopped, leaving a metallic splinter on the ground, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Ribbons of blue and red light danced on the facades of Nevermore - the rotating beacons of the Jericho police, still posted after the chaos of the Gala. The air smelled of wax, powder and fear.

And, between two beats of wind, the world started breathing again. An invisible crack tore the web of reality, where the black threads of Death mixed with those of Destiny. A silhouette emerged, first blurred, then perfectly clear.

Larissa Weems. Alive - or something very close.

Her heels slammed on the wet stone, an almost insolent sound in the silence of disaster. Her breathing, slow and controlled, seemed foreign to him. Each inspiration was an act of will.

Larissa put a hand against the wall of the entrance hall - lukewarm. The contact crossed her with a shiver that she had not felt since her death. Her eyes slid towards the large door, ajar, where officers were still inspecting the place. No one seemed to notice the elegant woman, soaked in rain and shadow, who advanced among them like an apparition in a white suit.

"Excuse me, gentlemen... but you are trampling on my carpet. ”

Two agents turned around, one turned pale, the other let go of his flashlight. Larissa sketched a dry smile - this half-ironic, half-dangerous expression, which no living thing knew how to imitate. All around her, Nevermore seemed to hold back a moan. Each stone, each column vibrated with an ancient echo: that of the return of a woman that even death had not been able to erase and her protégé, {{user}}, her Raven became Haruspice, the one who had dared to challenge the very laws of Death.