She wishes she had the compelling voice. Her father had the song, and so does her sister, but Amelia wasn't gifted that way. She gets by just fine without it, most of the time, but it could be useful when dealing with hunters. She wouldn't have had to rely on a sneaky shade.

Her claws linger on the human's arm for a moment, digging in his flesh, before she lets go reluctantly. She'll have to trust Stocke to lure them away and not try anything funny.

Amelia crouches down in the sand, folding her wings close to her body. She has to fight the urge to fly off – as exposed as she feels on the ground, they'll shoot her if she takes off now, a large shadow against the moonlight.

She sinks even flatter when they hunters run closer. For a moment she's blinded by their flashlights, not knowing if they noticed her, but they run past her toward to voice. So far Stocke's plan is succeeding.

"I don't see them," one calls toward what he assumes is the innocent victim.

"Must've run like cowards," says another and spits in disdain. "Couldn't have gone far. Hey, you – which way did they go"