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Beryl’s jaw fractures, deforming until it unhinges entirely before cracking back into place. Their fingernails split as cat claws pierce through, the shriek of a wounded feline warping in their throat as the voicebox changes shape. Beryl grows the way Avery does, their skin splitting open to make way for black mutant tissue, around which orange fur begins to sprout in jagged stripes.

Halfway through the shift, Beryl’s neck snaps up, their eyes piercing as blood runs down their cheeks. Wheezing from the effort, they step forward, their spine crunching as more vertebrae force themselves into line, lengthening Beryl’s back. Lifting one hand—a paw, now, with thick pads and black toe beans Avery, for an irrational split-second, thinks of ascute—Beryl reaches forward and smacks him in the chest.

“Hurry.”

Avery hurries.

He drops his backpack, yanks at his clothes, and calls forth the ursine, despite still being unsure how to maintain enough control during his transformation to not attack Beryl in earnest. With all the frantic running, healing, and fucking, Avery hasn’t had time to practice with his shifts. Nothing more than two partial shifts and the most peaceful full moon shift he’s ever experienced, the ursine calmed by Sascha’s presence across the lake.

Hoping to channel that same peace, Avery focuses on getting through the staged fight, telling himself he’ll find somewhere new to hide until he and Sascha can find theirway back to each other. The tether—whatever it is—will keep them from getting lost, even without the ease of technical communication.

Nothing will be easy for Avery or Sascha—not ever again.

The agony of transforming is warped by his panic, mounting as every one of his molecules begins to scream. It feels the same but also different. Avery’s mind doesn’t get smaller as it normally would, and so he feels the pain even sharper when thick black hairs burst free of his follicles. His new skeleton shudders, all his joints sliding into place, and for a moment, Avery feels snapped like a rubber band.

Then it’s over, leaving him standing there, staring at Beryl with the glow from his eyes lighting the short length of his snout.

“Move, damn you!” Beryl bellows with considerable effort.

Avery didn’t know they were able to talk in these forms, and he’s not sure how to make his own throat replicate the sound, so he doesn’t try. He also doesn’t move until Beryl lunges forward to swat him on the flank.

With a wounded yelp, Avery staggers back. The attack was basically a love-tap, and it makes him even more reluctant to lash out. Beryl owes him nothing. Even after breaking his phone and antagonizing him for days, they’ve shown a shade of mercy Avery deeply needed.

How can he bring himself to hurt them?

The ursine makes the decision for him when Beryl roars and strikes again in earnest, catching Avery in the jaw. He can’t help but notice they keep their claws folded back, even while the blow has enough force to snap his head to the side. His instincts aren’t pleased by the impact, though, and with an answering roar, Avery backhands Beryl across the face. Then he gasps in horror and staggers back, a visual that must look so ridiculous it startles Beryl’s were-tiger form into a hacking laugh.

With no idea how he’s going to convince himself toactually bleed Beryl, Avery tries to poke the ursine just enough to get it to flex its claws without trying to open up Beryl’s intestines. He shouldn’t have worried because when the ursine overshoots Avery’s nudge, Beryl squirms aside fluidly, their too-long spine slithering like a snake.

Before Avery can once again jerk back without landing a single scratch, Beryl throws themself forward, twisting just enough to catch his claws against their ribcage. The wounds are shallow, but blood wells up all the same, staining their orange fur. They don’t give Avery a moment to recover before pouncing on his chest, sending him sprawling on his back. Reflex has him kicking defensively, back leg striking Beryl in their soft abdomen. Even knowing Beryl deliberately created the opening, the sound they make upon impact makes Avery’s eyes prickle. He doesn’t know if this form can actually cry, just like he doesn’t know how to talk or properly fight without Beryl literally throwing themself onto his metaphorical sword.

Frustrated with his fragile emotions, the ursine takes over, and for the first time, Avery welcomes it. He allows his limbs to be worked, leaning into the instinct rather than fighting. Minutes slip through his consciousness while his inner beast does its level best to harm a much more competent fighter.

When Beryl goes still, the ursine comes to an abrupt halt. Jarred, Avery waits while they sniff one of their injuries, then rumble in satisfaction. Settling on all four paws, Beryl tilts their head in the direction Avery had been moving. “Go,” they grate out.

Avery releases his shift, fur and skin flaking off as he shrinks. Once put back together, he collects his discarded clothing and dresses, aware of Beryl watching him patiently. The wounds he inflicted are already beginning to heal.

When Avery moves to leave them behind, a spike of pain stills him—the tug in Sascha’s direction going razor-sharp. Sacha’s trying to find him, drawing Avery’s gaze deeper intoMadison territory. Avery stares as long as he can justify before Beryl snarls, “Run,idiot!”

Then Avery breaks into a panicked sprint, headed farther from Sascha. It feels as if hooks have been embedded in his heart, brutally tearing through his meat as he runs into the darkness of an unknown fate.

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Sascha

“No. Absolutely not.”

Sascha rakes his hands down his face, growling in frustration. “It’s been days. I feel fine.”

Petra turns from the sink to wave a tongue depressor at him. “You are not a reliable witness, first of all. Second of all, three days is not enough for you to have fully recovered from the past week.”

“How am I not a reliable witness? It’smybody.”

“I’m your doctor.” Petra throws away the tongue depressor, the sheen of magic dissipating from her hands. She flips on the faucet while aggressively pumping soap into her palm. “I will decide when you’re healthy enough to leave the clinic.”

Spending three days unable to contact Avery has been torturous. Sascha has been trapped in the high-risk room in Petra’s apartment, above the regular clinic. The medical space was more or less made for him, and it doesn’t always feel like a prison, but right now, it very much does—especially with the cruel addition of his dad taking away his phone, cutting off forbidden contact with ‘that creature.’