Joren hadn't moved from where we set him down.
Shoulders hunched.
Head low.
His breathing came uneven—
like every inhale caught on something inside him.
The cough came again.
Wet.
Thicker now.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—
too fast.
Like if he moved quickly enough—
no one would notice.
Everyone noticed.
No one said anything.
Not yet.
But the space around him had grown.
Not by much.
Just enough to be felt.
Tension hung over the longhouse like smoke.
No one wanted to be the first to say it.
"I'm alright."
His voice cracked slightly.
He cleared his throat.
Tried again.
"I'm fine."
No one answered.
He looked around the room—
searching faces.
Not for help.
For agreement.
"You guys know me," he said.
"I'm still the same."
He gestured weakly toward himself.
"I'm talking. I'm thinking."
A small, shaky laugh slipped out.
"That's… that's not what they do, right?"
No one laughed with him.
Rorik didn't move.
Didn't respond.
Just watched.
Measuring.
"I didn't bite anyone," Joren added quickly.
"I didn't attack anyone."
His voice sped up now.
Grasping.
"That has to mean something."
"It doesn't," someone muttered from the back.
"We've seen how this goes," Harven said.
Not angry.
Afraid.
"First they talk. Then they—"
He didn't finish.
"I'm not them," Joren snapped.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
The room flinched.
He saw it.
And immediately backed off.
"I didn't mean—"
He swallowed hard.
"I'm just saying… I'm still me."
"For now," Freya said quietly.
Joren looked at her like she'd struck him.
His voice edged toward panic now.
"Guys, it's not funny. I'm fine."
"No," she replied.
Calm.
"You're walking the tightrope... and it's already starting to fray."
"It's only a matter of time until you fall," Harven added bluntly.
He pushed himself up slightly—
unsteady.
"Then test me," he said.
The room stilled.
"Tie me up. Watch me. Whatever you want."
His voice cracked again.
"Just… don't treat me like I'm already gone."
That one landed.
Because we already were.
Joren coughed again.
Harder this time.
His body folded forward with it.
When he pulled his hand away—
more of that black substance clung to his fingers.
He stared at it.
Just for a second.
Then wiped it on his pants.
Like that would make it disappear.
A woman near him stepped back quickly.
"He's getting worse."
Whispering spread through the longhouse—
low, urgent, afraid.
"I can hear you," Joren said quietly.
That shut them up.
"I can hear all of you," he added.
His voice softer now.
Tired.
"I'm not deaf."
He looked up again.
Eyes flicking between us—
slower now.
Like focusing was getting harder.
"I can feel something."
He hesitated.
"It's stronger now."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Joren's gaze drifted slightly—
not unfocused…
just not entirely here.
"Like it's closer," he said.
"Like it knows where I am."
The room went cold.
"What about what happened to the hunters?" someone said.
"We tied them up... and look how that turned out."
"We don't know if they escaped on their own," I said.
That drew eyes toward me.
"What do you mean?" Ylva spoke up this time.
I hesitated.
Then said it anyway.
"Sten wasn't with the hunters."
"We found him at the docks."
"Already infected."
A murmur spread.
"So how?" I continued.
"Unless something else got to him first."
Silence.
Heavier than before.
"I saw something," I added.
"Out in the square."
"Something… different."
"Enough."
Rorik's voice cut through it clean.
"We deal with what's in front of us."
He looked at Joren.
Not unkind.
But not uncertain.
"You'll be restrained."
"Until we understand more."
Joren nodded.
Too quickly.
Relief flickering across his face.
"Yeah," he said.
"That's… that's fair."
His voice dropped.
"That's fair."
He looked at me.
Searching.
I nodded.
Even though I didn't believe it.
Freya stepped forward with a length of rope.
She didn't rush.
Didn't hesitate either.
Joren held still as she tied his wrists—
tighter than necessary.
Then around the pillar.
He didn't fight it.
Didn't even flinch.
Just sat there.
Breathing.
Waiting.
The rope creaked slightly as Joren shifted against the pillar.
Not struggling.
Just… adjusting.
Like he couldn't get comfortable in his own body anymore.
"It's not just closer," he said suddenly.
His voice quieter now.
Different.
No one responded.
But everyone listened.
"It's… pulling," he continued.
"Not like before."
He shook his head slightly.
"Stronger now."
"Pulling what?" I asked.
Joren hesitated.
Like he didn't have the words for it.
"Something inside me," he said finally.
"Not my body."
"Something else."
"Like…"
He frowned.
Searching.
"Like when you're angry," he said.
"Or scared."
"That feeling in your chest—right before you act."
His eyes flicked up to mine.
"That part."
The room went still.
Everyone was mulling over his words carefully in their mind to try and understand the message.
"It's grabbing at that," Joren said.
"Like it wants it."
He swallowed hard.
"And when I think about… hurting something—"
He stopped.
His breathing hitched.
"It gets louder."
"Louder how?" Torvin asked.
Joren looked at him.
Eyes sharper for a second.
"Stronger," he said.
"Clearer."
"Like it's feeding on it."
My mind jumped—
to Sten.
To the way he moved.
To the way he felt.
"And when I…"
He hesitated again.
Then looked down at his hands.
"When I hurt something earlier—"
His voice dropped.
"When I hit one of them…"
He flexed his fingers slightly.
Like remembering it.
"It got easier," he said.
"I didn't feel any weaker than him," Joren added quickly.
"I almost felt stronger."
His head lifted slowly.
"That's not possible," Harven said.
"It didn't feel like mine," Joren continued, ignoring him.
"But it stayed."
He swallowed.
Hard.
"And now it wants more."
His breathing shifted.
Not heavier.
Faster.
"But there's a… a cost," he said.
"I can feel it."
His brow furrowed.
Like the thought itself hurt.
"Every time I—"
He stopped.
Blinked.
"When I…"
His eyes drifted slightly—
unfocused for just a second.
"It takes…"
The word hung there.
Just out of reach.
I leaned forward slightly.
"Takes what?"
Joren looked at me.
Really looked.
And for a moment—
I thought he had it.
"It takes…"
His expression changed.
Not fear.
Not pain.
Confusion.
"I—"
He blinked again.
Slower this time.
"I had it," he said quietly.
"I just…"
He shook his head slightly.
"I had it."
His breathing picked up.
Not panicked—
frustrated.
"It was right there," he muttered.
"I could—"
He stopped again.
His fingers flexed against the rope.
Not pulling.
Just… reacting.
No one spoke now.
No one moved.
Because we were watching it happen.
Not a transformation.
A fading.
"It takes…"
He winced.
Like something inside him pushed back.
"It takes… something from—"
His jaw tightened.
The words didn't come.
Instead—
a cough tore through him.
Violent.
Sudden.
His whole body jerked forward with it.
When he lifted his head again—
more of that black substance slipped from his mouth.
Joren's voice came out quieter now.
Slower.
"It makes it harder to…"
He trailed off.
His eyes drifted again.
Not searching anymore.
Not focused.
Just… slipping.
"Think," he said finally.
The word barely made it out.
And after that—
he didn't try to explain it again.
Because I don't think he could.