Her name was Maya, and she was seventeen years old.
"I'm a Manananggal," she announced at the community center front desk. "I need to see Gladys Samotiloy. It's urgent."
The receptionist, a sigbin named Greg, blinked. "You're... seventeen."
"And a Manananggal. It happens. Can I please see her?"
Glad met Maya in her office, immediately sensing something familiar—and something wrong.
"You're young to have separated," she observed. "Most of us don't manifest until our twenties."
"I'm not most of us." Maya's eyes darted around the room. "I was turned. Recently. By someone who—" She stopped, swallowing hard. "By someone who said you'd know what to do."
Glad's blood ran cold. "Who turned you?"
"A woman. Old. Beautiful. She said her name was—" Maya hesitated. "Marikit."
The name hit Glad like a physical blow.
Marikit. Ariel's ex. The traitor who'd worked with Dimagiba. The creature who'd vanished after the Ibwa's defeat.
She was back.
And she was making more Manananggals.