"Oh, I won't be going to bed. Not after this," he downs the last of his coffee and tosses the cup into a nearby bin. "But that's okay. Who needs a circadian rhythm anyway? I'll just watch random shit on Netflix for five hours and then pass out. That feels on-brand for me. But hey, speaking of Vicky and Ed, do you think they'll—"
A shift in the wind.
It's not much. Barely a whiff. But you catch it.
Werewolf.
Marco has scented it too. He's turning his head, sucking in breath after breath, trying to figure out exactly which direction the smell is coming from.
"Is it one of the pack?" you ask. "Vicky? Ed?"
"I don't—" Marco begins.
Another gust of wind.
Next