Slowly, steadily, he packed up his things. Then he set out on his journey to find where people had escaped to, if there were even any left.

I win, he finally allowed himself the thought. He walked past the bodies of the couple that had taken it on themselves to see if the naked, malnourished boy that they’d found had any people he was so insistently trying to return to. In the time he’d been here, the bodies had dried up.

Already, instincts were kicking in. Another imperative. He was much happier with this one.

Imperative four: Take action, and whatever it is we do, it needs to be big.

⊙

He found her crying.

Amelia Claire Lavere. Marquis’ daughter. Victoria’s sister.

The Rinke creation sprung to its feet as he drew near, prowling with long legs and a sleek, long body. It brandished a box-cutter at him.

“Lab Rat,” Amelia said. She sat up straight and wiped at her eyes. “You followed me?”

Found you.

Already, he was changing back. He’d timed his arrival, done one circuit around the area.

“Come. Let me touch you,” she said, trying to sound steely and failing. She was still very close to returning to sobs.

He allowed it. He approached. The Rinke creation leaped onto his leg, then up to his long neck, where it held the box cutter at an area where the blood pumped hardest.

The hand was warm, with his scaled body soaked with the freezing rain.

He’d called this piece of work ‘Fleeting Memory’. Fast, thus the fleeting, and Memory because it reminded him of the time he’d been born. Not reborn as Lab Rat—he’d told the others about that. But when he’d been birthed onto a bed of scales and Breed’s bugs, dredged from the water beneath the oil rig. This body was spindly legs and sleek writhing scale, holding the vague profile of a very narrow wolf.

Memory, too, because scent was tied to memory, and this form was a very good tracker. Less good in the rain, but… good.

Amelia helped him transform faster, and as she did, she removed the compulsion that Goddess had laid on him. As he lost his humanity, he wrapped the cloth sash around himself, concealing his manhood. A length of it went over his head, to keep the rain off. It didn’t really help.

As he fixed the position of everything, he adjusted the boxes that were tucked into pockets.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked.

“You shed.”

“Your power doesn’t work through hair.”

“Not well. But that body didn’t have hair. Besides, you resemble him. You’re not him, though.”

He shrugged.

“What have you done to yourself?” she asked.

He was very aware of the distinction. It wasn’t ‘what did he do to you’, referring to his creator. It was what he had done to himself.