As silent as her approach was, subterfuge could only cover so much.<br/><br/>With the honed senses of a werewolf, he detected something off in the air moments after the bell rang. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptively, nostrils flaring, and pupils dilating. As the shadow began to solidify behind him, he acted. His hat was dropped, not caring for it in this moment, and in a moment his cloak was shed as he twirled on the balls of his feet. In that moment, one of those heavy pistols was drawn, and leveled at the shadow. His other hand, still gloved, was ablaze with a crackling ball of flaming energy. Though he went no further, catching himself. His cigar fell to the ground at his feet, disregarded in the moment. His eyes flickered between Modya and the shadowy figure now before him. A deep growl, inhuman in tone and depth, emerged from his throat. The grin had disappeared, one corner of his mouth tugging up in a snarl, and revealing the subdued pearly white fangs.<br/><br/>"What is the meaning of this trick, Modya?" The fiery energy at his fingertips was pointed rather accusingly in the elf's direction, "I do not like when shadows are sent behind my back." The pistol was trained on the shadowy figure in question.