“Uh, okay.” What isn’t Scarlett telling me? And why? “Now can I go, sir?”

He furrows his brow, then moves over and lets me by.

I go through self-checkout, having already had my fill of human interaction for today. It occurs to me as I buy several reusable grocery bags that I don’t have my own because they’re in the trunk of my car, which is back at Scarlett’s. I didn’t drive here. I walked. And I’m going to have to carry all this home.

I guess sometimes supernatural strength is pretty convenient.

When I get home however long later, Matty’s car is in the driveway.

He’s upstairs with Scarlett, painting the baby’s room. The door is open. I see them, but they don’t see me. I lock myself in my room with several rotisserie chickens.

I eat them in bed, finish them quickly, gnaw on the bones. My hands are grease slick. I search my nightstand for a tissue, something to wipe my fingers with instead of just using my sheets.

There are no tissues in my nightstand. There is an old receipt. I find it’s not particularly effective. I crumple it up and throw it on the floor. I go to close the drawer, but something glimmers and catches my attention. My jewelry. The silver I haven’t touched. The necklace that burned me. Some rings. A delicate bracelet.

I’m compelled. I still don’t know what silver does to me, exactly.

What did the man at the occult shop say? Something about truth at the heart of lore?

Some lore says silver is fatal. Some lore says that it’s associated with the power of the moon and that’s why it has strong effects. I read somewhere that new wolves need to “baptize themselves in silver under the moonlight,” whatever that means. I’ve also read that the silver thing is bullshit, which I guess I know isn’t true. It does something.

Could it cure me? Could it kill me?

Right now I don’t really care. Maybe this isn’t curiosity. Maybe I’m just craving self-destruction.

I pick up the bracelet. It burns, but I don’t mind this hurt. I kind of like it.

I clasp the bracelet around my wrist. It makes a very faint hissing noise against my skin.

My senses dull. My thoughts slow. It’s something like relaxation. The world fades from me and I’m not sorry to see it go. I let my eyes close.

I’m ready to hibernate indefinitely.

—

I wake up in the bathtub with Scarlett standing over me, red-eyed, screaming my name.

“What?” I ask. My voice sounds far away.

The water overflows, sloshes out onto the bathroom floor. Scarlett turns off the faucet. She kneels on the tile, taking my face in her hands.

“What were you doing? What were you thinking?”

“Why am I in the bathtub?” I ask, blinking. The lights are bright. There’s a high-pitched ringing in my ears. “Are you trying to harvest my organs?”

She scoffs, releases my face. “You were unresponsive.”