Jaylin heard the resonant bang of the trapdoor falling closed, but he couldn't look from Flora. The way she wore bandages around her neck and shoulders, the way she looked so wild and rural and animal, a tigress in a circus cage.

"Quentin isn't going to like this," Alexander's voice pulled him back to Earth.

"He'll get over it," Felix stepped forward to a device that had been latched onto the bars of the cage and wired to the wall. "It's nearly out. A new vial?"

"In the cupboard."

Jaylin was still staring, still watching Flora. And now she was watching him too. Her head rocked just slightly, and though she wasn't smiling, there was a look in Flora's eyes that glinted wet with satisfaction.

"You shouldn't be in here too long, Felix." Alexander stepped forward, his presence poignant at Jaylin's side. "I'll explain everything to him. Just go check on Quentin for me. Make sure he's asleep, because if not, you've really screwed the pooch this time."

Jaylin wanted to ask of Flora—what she was doing here, why they had her locked away, but he feared the answer too much to form words. They had her in a cage. Why did they have her in a cage? He watched as Felix took a device from the wall—a small cylinder with a cord that spilled down on the ground and attached to an electrical outlet. He twisted out an empty glass vial from inside and replaced it with a new one, red in color. Then Felix retreated to the ladder and climbed back up through the trapdoor.

And not long after, there was a smell in the air. Jaylin couldn't put his thumb on it, but the scent was sick and sweet and pulsing through him like cold, fuzzy static. He felt a quiver skitter up his esophagus and suddenly Jaylin was hunched forward, repulsing all of the sugary snacks he'd shared with Tisper an hour ago.

"Jaylin?" he could hear Alexander, feel the taut worry in his voice. "Ah, man."

But Jaylin couldn't respond. He heaved, though not a morsel was left. Heaved until his stomach cramped and his chest ached. And when finally he felt he could bear the swallow of acidity, Jaylin stood straight. He wiped at his mouth and gripped the bars of the cage, but it only felt like his insides were rising again. Like there was something inside of him, a monster, kicking and clawing its way out.

And then Jaylin was sliding down the wall, down until he was squatting on his haunches. And when the dizziness grew into a dangerous vertigo, Jaylin felt himself slipping. Slipping, like the world had turned at a ninety-degree angle, and those bricks in the wall were all he had to keep from falling.

"Hold on, Jaylin." Alexander echoed in his ears. "Just um...hold on, alright?"

The light fled from him, left him in the dark. And suddenly Jaylin was somewhere else.

-

The wind was blowing in his ear. The wind and the song of leaves as they broke from their trees and piled on the autumn ground. This place he'd found was beautiful—a clearing in the woods, trees as tall as towers. And when he looked up, there was only a circle of sky that could be seen through these godly trees. A perfect orotund gap where the moon cast down on him and lit his circle like a halo from the heavens.

But Jaylin was far too tired to appreciate the moon. His heart burned in his chest, lungs crumpled and tired and the faint taste of copper on his tongue. It was then that Jaylin noticed he hadn't a scrap of clothing on. He didn't feel much from the snow around him. It wasn't cold like it should have been; he could hardly feel the ice beneath his feet.

As he searched around the clearing for his clothes, Jaylin could make out something faint in the distance, muddled and mingled with the rush of the wind. He followed the sound, breaking branches from his way, cringing and wiping at his skin when the dew shook from the leafs and slapped against the nape of his neck. His adventure took him deeper into the forest, deeper until he could decipher the sound as voices. And then deeper until he could make out the words they were saying.

"Things were moving too slow, I'm telling you this'll work—Ay, stop! Stop, stop, stop!"

They were just in front of him now, these voices. Jaylin shoved his arms through the thick growth of evergreen branches and parted them to see what hid behind. And what shown through the spruces was a light, brighter than anything Jaylin had ever seen.

A light, right in his eyes.

Jaylin flung up, blankets airborne, pillows flopping to the ground. In front of him, Alex rested on the arm of his living room sofa, a flashlight in his hand, the beam warm and bright and aimed right in Jaylin's face.

Jaylin batted it with his palm and blinked until the blindness ebbed away. Standing on the love-seat across the room was Felix, recoiling in defense while Quentin slammed into him with a heavy decorative throw pillow.

"What,"—he threw the pillow against Felix once more—"makes you,"—then again—"think this,"—harder now—"was a good idea, Felix!"

"I get it, stop!" Felix shouted, tumbling over the back of the couch. He caught himself on his hands and feet and leapt back up. "Just stop!" He pointed a finger. "Put the pillow down!"

"Shut up," Alex ordered, "he's awake." Then he was pointing the beam at his eyes again.

"Stop," Jaylin groaned, waving him away weakly. "What's going on?"

Alexander turned the flashlight off and when his eyes returned to Jaylin, they were tense with apprehension. "Guys," he called to the others, who had stopped their quarreling and started to approach the sofa, curious and cautious all at once.

They looked down at him like a wounded dog on the side of the road. A kind of pathetic sympathy in their eyes that made Jaylin wonder if he'd be seeing the other side of the shovel soon.

Quentin lowered himself just in front of Jaylin and sat at the edge of the coffee table, elbows on his knees, hands hanging relaxed in the space between. He had the kind of grin that just barely showed his teeth, and Jaylin couldn't take his eyes from it. And then there was the smell of him. Somehow musky, somehow sweet. Jaylin wondered if it was a cologne he used, if this was only his natural scent. If only there were a way to capture it in a bottle, he'd make millions.

"Jaylin?" Quentin must have been calling his name for some time, because that grin fell away and something concerned took its place. "Jaylin." He felt something warm press to his forehead, and for some reason he felt inclined to lay back again. "He's burning up," Quentin said.

"Jaylin, how do you feel?" Alexander's voice came through and Jaylin cracked his eyes open to search for his face.

"I've been getting sick." The words were drunk with sleep, so Jaylin tried again, "The flu, I think."

When quiet fell over the four of them, Felix took it upon himself to shatter the silence. "Ye gotta be fuckin kidding me. What the hell do we do with him?"

"Bailey was right." The voice was too soft to belong to Quentin. Alexander, Jaylin had decided. "We need to tell him, Quen."

"Tell me what?" There was a wheeze to Jaylin's words, a sticky lump in his throat. "What's going on? Who's Bailey?"

"You aren't sick with the flu," Quentin explained. "And since I don't think you're in any shape to run away this time, I suggest you seriously reconsider the werewolf question."

Jaylin rubbed his eyes, hoping it would clear his sight. He wanted to sit up but the world was teetering beneath him.

The werewolf thing—they were shitting him, right? They had to be. But Jaylin decided it took far less effort to play along. "What does that have to do with me?"

"That vial in the basement was putting out a certain oil that's fine for humans, but makes us basically inoperable. And you're reacting to it in a way that,"—Quentin scratched at the side of his neck, the same way he'd done the first time he brought up werewolves—"we kind of predicted."

Jaylin sat up a bit to fight that drowsy feeling. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm just sick."

"I know you don't want to believe it," Quentin said. "But I've got better things to do with my time than shadow you around, trying to convince you that wolves are real for the sake of shits and giggles."

"She's a wolf," Felix butted in. "That woman down in the basement. You do remember, aye? She tried to rip your throat out? I never did get a thanks for that—" He hacked out a pained noise as Quentin shot an elbow into his gut.

"There are more like her," Quentin began, his voice slow and calm. Just enough that Jaylin could grip it without feeling like he was being flung from a carnival ride. "More of them will be coming for you."

Jaylin turned his head to look at Quentin, but his sight had gone bleary. Jaylin was trapped in his fevered haze and Quentin was only a swirling, featureless face.

"What?" he croaked, jumping when he felt something cold touch his forehead. When he looked up, it was Alexander with a cool washcloth. He turned his head back to Quentin, though he couldn't make out much more than the vague contour of his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"The woman down there is what we call a scout."

"A scout... what's she scouting?"

"You," Quentin said.

Jaylin didn't understand any of it. The information was coming to him at bullet-speed, and sleep was drowning out his will to comprehend. "I'm confused," he said and pressed a hand to the damp cloth on his forehead. He could feel the heat beneath it. "I'm tired."

His eyes fell shut after that, far too heavy to open again. But Jaylin could hear the rustle as Alex stood from the couch, the scent of Quentin parting too soon.

"Should we really just leave him there?"

"Nothing else to do," he could make out the distinct intonation in Felix's tone, the purr of his Scottish accent. "This is only the beginning."

"Let him sleep," Quentin said. "We'll take him home when he wakes up."

And just like that, Jaylin was standing in the snowy clearing again.