“I could pull that open to see if there’s anything arterial, but I feel like it’d be leaking out or there’d be discoloration, bruising, or fluid buildup. Better to keep it closed, let it keep clotting.”

“Sure,” Byron murmured, like he didn’t even care.

“Hello!”

The cheery, young voice was jarring, as a contrast to Byron’s.

Riley’s voice came across the computer. “Woww. Look at you. Case Fifty-Three? And… dinner?”

“No. Transformation cocktail. Two injured. They’re getting patched up.”

“Lemme see. Put them in front of the camera.”

I helped Byron stand, and brought him closer to the computer.

“I wish I’d seen you before you started bleeding. I’d be able to judge better. I think you’ll be okay, but don’t go running too fast or getting too excited. You might pass out.”

“Any arterial bleeding?” I asked. “Anything internal? Muscle damage? Nerve damage?”

“Nerve damage, maybe. Worst-case scenario… second worst-case scenario, his right hand is only as good as his left, some therapy needed. Worst-case scenario is we all die before that’s even a question.”

“I just need bandages, then?” Byron asked.

“Medical attention if you want to avoid the nerve damage.”

“That takes time. Bandages?”

“Yep, if you’re willing to take the risk. Twenty-five percent chance your hand doesn’t fully recover.”

“That’s fine,” Byron said.

I moved my hand away from the wound that ran parallel to my bra strap, collarbone up to the shoulder.

“You’re bleeding more than you think you are. I love the edges on those cuts. What was the weapon they used?”

“Laser with no heat, I think,” I said.

“I want the readouts on that!” Riley said, in the same voice a kid proclaimed their desire for a puppy that was for sale.

“Focus,” Cryptid growled.

“You’ll need to cauterize. One and a half inches above the collarbone.”

“Fuck me,” Cryptid’s growl became more growly. He rose from his seat, grabbing part of his kit, and… if his feet weren’t stretched-out rat feet, then he would have been stomping my way. As it was, it was a stalk, quick and lunge-y. He reached for me and I flew back. No forcefield, while it was holding Byron’s arm.

“I have stuff.”

“Ask first.”

“Fucking—” he growled. “You want to stop bleeding? I have stuff. For your forehead too.”

“Will it knock me out? Slow me down?”

“No. It stops bleeding.”

“Because the doctors at Shin—”

He threw it down on the floor, then stalked his way back to his chair.

“You talk about the importance of being wary, Cryptid, but the moment we’re wary around you for good reason, you get pissy.”