The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the heavy October clouds, casting a pale, shifting glow across the hospital wing. Remus lay still on the narrow bed, every inch of him aching as though the wolf had left claw marks beneath his skin, not just upon it. His amber eyes, dulled with exhaustion, flicked to the faint scratches on his forearm, half-hidden beneath the edge of the sheet. It could have been worse, he thought, though the weight of the night still pressed heavily on his chest. The wolf always took something with it when it retreated, leaving behind the brittle pieces of himself he’d have to gather and put back together before anyone saw through his careful mask.

He jumped as someone came in, unexpectedly.