He looked even worse than I'd expected.

Angus Sewell was frail and thin. Surrounded by pillows and sunken into the center of the mattress of a large four-poster bed, he appeared much smaller than he likely was. He shouldn't look this old: without complications, he should live well past 100. At this rate, I wasn't sure he'd make it to summer.

Ephraim stood by his bedside, running him down a list of questions, the same he asked each time: how are you feeling; are you in any pain; when is the last time you ate, you drank, you used the bathroom? How has your disposition been? Your breathing? Your sleep? Angus knew the list by heart and could have rattled off the answers before the questions were even asked if he'd had the energy to do so.

The room had a peculiar smell, too sweet, like overripe fruit or flowers that had sat in a vase for too long. It was overpowering if I lost focus and inhaled through my nose, though I wasn't sure whether I was picking up on whatever Ephraim had noticed or if this was just the smell of someone who was all but bedridden. If I had indeed caught the scent of his disease with my limited ability on that front, it had progressed far beyond what was likely curable.

There were very few diseases that could kill a wolf. During my years as a healer I'd only encountered two, and each one only once. My very first year as an apprentice at the clinic, one of our pack elders had reached the fatal stages of Lycan's End. Her DNA had been under attack for well over a year by a virus that targeted the genes responsible for regulating cell growth and division. Over time, the abnormal tissue that formed as a result slowly strangled her organs. The best we could do was provide palliative care and keep her comfortable until her body finally shut itself down.

The other I'd seen when a pack from the Midwest brought their afflicted member for a consultation several years before. He suffered from Lycanthropic Dementia, and his cognitive function had steadily declined to the point that he was constantly battling paranoid delusions. We never saw him again after that, but Rosalind said that he would eventually lose control over his transformations and become stuck in his wolf form, half-rabid from the hallucinations.

But whatever was afflicting Angus was neither of those things. As I stood against the wall and watched Ephraim conduct his exam, I continued to mentally catalogue his symptoms against things I'd seen and things I'd read about.

"Who's the girl?" He croaked.

Ephraim beckoned me forward. "This is Kiera, our new healer. She'll be my partner once I've gotten her up to speed."

Angus sniffed. "She's not one of ours."

"No," I confirmed. "I'm from Sawtooth, but I live here now." I left out the whole life-debt part of the story.

"Ahh," he sighed. "Yes. We discussed your arrival on the Council. That may have been the last meeting I made it to."

So he knew who I was after all. I was grateful that he left out the life-debt part, too. The less I had to be reminded of it, the better.

"How's your appetite?" Ephraim flipped through his notebook, turning pages back and forth. Comparing today's scribbles with those from previous visits.

"Some days I feel like I never stop eating."

"But you're down another two pounds since I last saw you." His frustration was obvious; he felt responsible for Angus' continued decline. I knew the feeling well—even for the most experienced healers, the most detached, it never truly went away.

Angus shrugged. The quick movement seemed to exhaust him and he sank deeper into the pillow behind his head. Slight movement in his lap caught my eye as he ran his thumb back and forth across the pads of his fingers. I watched for a moment before I cleared my throat.

"Is something wrong with your hand?"

"Hmm?" Angus glanced at me, then down at his hand. He flexed it open and closed. "Just a bit tingly is all."

I frowned. "Your fingers? Or the whole hand?"

"Just my fingers."

"But no pain, you said?" Ephraim asked.

"None at all." When I added it to the mental list, something tugged loose in my memory. I couldn't quite draw it to the forefront of my mind, but there was a familiarity there that left something on the tip of my tongue. A diagnosis, maybe. One that I hoped would work its way out of my subconscious.

I couldn't help feeling pleased as we left Angus' home. It had been easy for him to accept my presence there. He hadn't tried to hide anything from me, nor had he shown any signs that he was angry with Ephraim for sharing his file with me before asking. If the rest of the Council was anywhere near as tolerant as Angus had been, perhaps I'd find my place here sooner than I'd thought.

"Interesting about his fingers," Ephraim commented as he pulled up Gabriel's driveway. "That was a good catch." I tried not to look too excited by his praise.

Odette was leaving the house as we arrived. She moved quickly, head lowered, her face tear-soaked and mottled red. She hadn't bothered to close the front door behind her. Both Ephraim and I peered into the doorway, waiting for Gabriel to follow, but the door just swung lazily on its hinges, undisturbed.

"I'm going to—" I motioned towards where Odette was fumbling with her keys. "I'll meet you inside."

Having dropped her keys, Odette now sagged against the side of her car and sobbed into her hands, running makeup staining the palms of her otherwise pristine white gloves. I approached cautiously and waited for her to speak first.

"He told me there was no need for me to come back."

I moved closer to hear her muffled voice. "What do you mean?"

"I came to say goodbye and to set a date for my next visit. He told me not to bother." When Odette looked up from her hands, her eyes were filled with hurt, fresh and cutting.

"Why? Did he say anything else?"

Odette sagged further into the car, as though her legs could no longer hold her weight. I worried that I'd have to catch her if she fell. "He said that he doesn't feel anything for me and that I shouldn't keep wasting my time trying to force it," she said finally.

"Odette, I'm so sorry. That's..." I trailed off before saying out loud the first words that came to mind: Heartless. Cruel. He could have at least tried to let her down gently.

"What if this is it? What if he really is my mate, and he's just turned me away? I'll never find another, I'll be alone!"

She was starting to sound hysterical, so I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her in a tight hug. I wanted to tell her it wasn't true, that Gabriel wasn't ever meant for her to begin with. That it was only a crush and someday she'd find her real match. But I didn't want to promise anything I didn't know for sure: he could just as easily be her mate, bound so deep and tightly that he couldn't feel a thing. Neither option would make her feel any better to hear, so I kept my mouth shut.

Once she'd calmed enough that she could safely drive, Odette pulled away from the house into the growing afternoon shadows. I watched her taillights disappear down the driveway before heading inside.

Gabriel had never emerged and was likely still locked in his office. I hadn't seen him since he'd come to the guesthouse for my help. He'd left early in the morning, long before sunrise. He had folded the blanket and straightened the pillows; if I hadn't heard the door close behind him I might have thought it was a dream.

Ephraim was seated behind his desk and though he didn't look up at me when I entered, I knew he could feel the judgement rolling off of me. "He did the right thing, letting her go. It wouldn't have been fair of him to keep leading her on."

"He never should have in the first place. He should have made it clear that first night at the gathering that he's...that he can't feel anything." Crossing my arms over my chest, I sat down hard in the chair across from him.

He flashed me a look that I couldn't quite read. "How do you know?"

"Odette told me. I'm assuming he told her, or at least confirmed it. Sounds like most have heard the rumor," I probed. It didn't work.

Ephraim hummed. There were about a hundred questions locked and loaded like ammunition in my mind, but I knew better than to fire. He was Gabriel's ally, not mine. He wouldn't answer a single one.

"He could have at least been kinder about it."

"He's never been one to sugarcoat things. I've caught the sharp edge of his words more times than I can count." He shrugged and went back to his notes. "You learn to shake it off."