"By the way… I've been aning to ask you sothing," William began, a touch hesitant. The words tugged Milagros out of her brief reverie.
She turned toward him and blinked, as if surfacing from sowhere far away.
"Yeah? Go on," she said, her tone dry, almost detached. Her eyes scanned the cafeteria—laughter, the warm scent of toasted bread, the quick flickers of curiosity from a few nearby tables.
"You're… turned, right? I an, not born a wendigo?" he asked, carefully, as though the wrong phrasing might break sothing fragile between them.
"Yes." The answer ca short, clipped. "I went through the Ikhtan Winter before I beca what I am now. I wasn't born a flesh-eater, if that's what you an."
Her voice stayed level, but the faint quiver of an eyelid betrayed her irritation.
"And what makes you ask?" she added, suspicious now.
"Oh, I don't know… just curious," William muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "All the other Phenona are born what they are. You, though—you beca one. And I don't get why Kaine gets all the hate for being a dogman, sothing he didn't choose, while people treat you… well, easier. Doesn't seem logical."
Letecia laughed softly, a bright, chiming sound, and nudged her sandwich toward Milagros. The other woman's lips curved faintly in response.
"What? Did I say sothing wrong?" William asked, bewildered. Their laughter only deepened.
"See, sugar," Letecia drawled, resting an elbow lightly on the table, her rhythm slow and smooth with that Southern lilt, "to beco a wendigo, Milagros here had to make herself a deal with an alpha."
"Edward," Milagros clarified.
"Mm-hmm. The alpha," Letecia continued. "They're the real ones—the Vechuge, as the old clans call 'em. Born under the curse, driven by hunger older than ti itself. Dogn, though…" she tilted her head, considering, "they ain't creatures of hunger. They're creatures of impulse. That's why folks keep their distance."
Without asking, Letecia reached over to his plate, whisked away his second sandwich with practiced ease, and broke it neatly in half for Milagros.
William exhaled in defeat—arguing would've been pointless.
"And what do you an by 'impulse'?" he asked after a mont.
"It ans," Milagros said, stirring her coffee, "you never know if a dogman's going to stab you in the back or offer you a drink. Their moods shift faster than mountain winds. We wendigo—dangerous, yes, but predictable: hungry and we kill, fed and we talk philosophy. Dogn are chaos on paws. You can't forecast that."
She took a slow sip, held it on her tongue a mont before adding almost lazily,
"And for the record, they sll like a wet mutt. Doesn't help their reputation either."
William blinked. "Then… how do I sll?"
Milagros and Letecia exchanged a glance. Without a word, both leaned in.
"What are they—" he started to think, but never finished.
The two won closed the space between them. Their closeness was sudden, electric—the heat of their breath grazing his skin. Letecia tilted his chin up lightly, inhaling near his jaw. Milagros leaned closer, her nose brushing the collar of his shirt as she drew in a deep breath.
The mont stretched—nearly intimate, dangerously so. William felt warmth coil through him, unsure if it was fear, intrigue, or both.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Letecia murmured, her accent thick now, soft as molasses. She wasn't quite asking.
"Yes," Milagros breathed. She inhaled again, slower this ti. "Strange… I expected sothing else. You used to sll faintly tallic—like copper, like blood. But now…" She trailed off, brow furrowing in thought. "Now you sll like strawberries and honey."
"Ha," Letecia chuckled. "Probably my shampoo."
Milagros turned her head toward her friend, eyes narrowing as though trying to read sothing beneath the surface. Then, still holding William's gaze, she said quietly:
"Or maybe… he's just learned how to hide his real scent."
The air still hung thick with the mingled scents of coffee, toasted sandwiches, and a trace of sothing spiced—maybe cinnamon drifting over from the next table. But when the conversation took its strange turn, even the light seed to grow heavier.
Letecia frowned, turning a long, asuring look toward Milagros.
"Nah, sugar," she said slowly, voice thoughtful and low. "Ain't no way. He's too young, too green to pull off sothin' like that. He only awakened. Maybe less? Hidin' your scent ain't instinct—that's a learned trick. You spend years trainin' for that kinda control. It don't just… happen."
Milagros didn't answer. She stepped closer to William, her pupils dimming until her eyes seed to drink in the light. Her focus shifted—like she was seeing sothing that existed beneath the visible world.
She breathed in once, held it, then again—closer this ti, near his neck.
"No," she murmured at last, voice quiet but sure. "He's doing it deliberately. Hiding his true scent. And he's aware of it. I can't even trace him psychically…" Her brow furrowed. "It's like—he's trying to blend into the world around him. To disappear."
Her hand ca up to his neck, her fingers sliding against the nape until they pressed, just enough to make his stomach tighten and heat rush to his face.
"Uh—hey," he stamred, instinctively trying to lean away, "this is getting kinda weird—"
"Hold on," Letecia cut in. She stepped forward until she was close enough that a few strands of her hair brushed his arm. "If she's right… how co I didn't sense it?" she murmured, concentrating as she placed a hand on his sleeve.
For an instant her pupils flared—soft erald, like a flicker of candlelight. The air around William shivered.
"Huh…" she murmured. "His aura's mostly the sa—bright, layered, alive—but there's more gold in it now. And a touch of red… Not bad. Just… strange."
William suddenly realized he was trapped between both won—one cool and sharp like winter air, the other warm and honey-voiced, yet both exuding a quietly predatory grace. Sowhere nearby soone snickered softly, and he understood that their little "scene" hadn't gone unnoticed.
"Uh, could you two maybe take half a step back?" he whispered, trying to sound polite. "People are staring. And honestly, I'd rather not have to explain… whatever this is."
Both won blinked, as if only now realizing just how close they were.
"Oh, sugar, sorry," Letecia said with a guilty smile.
"We got carried away with the science," Milagros added dryly, crossing her arms as she stepped back.
William blew out a breath of relief and finally drew in a clean lungful of air.
"So tell ," he said, trying to sound casual, "why is the lack of sll such a huge deal? Maybe it's just shampoo?"
Letecia chuckled softly and ran her fingers through her curls.
"Now, sweetheart, it ain't that simple. Every Phenonon—lamia, wendigo, dogman, don't matter—has got its own kind of trail. Only others like us can sense it. It's like a fingerprint of the soul. And you… you ain't got one. It's like sniffin' at a shadow."
"And that's… bad?" he asked carefully, gripping his spoon so tight his knuckles whitened.
The two won exchanged a glance.
"Usually," said Letecia, her voice turning more solemn, "that kinda emptiness ans the creature's mastered their instincts—total control. It doesn't happen fast. Takes years… hell, decades. , I didn't learn to mask my scent until twelve years in. Milagros can do it too. But you?" She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You're still half‑baked."
Milagros gave a small, crooked smile.
"Yeah. Like soone rewrote your instincts from scratch."
"Nice to know I'm a walking mystery," William said wryly. "Guess I got what I wanted—being special."
"Being special ain't always lucky," Milagros said, leaning back in her chair. "Creatures that stand out too much… they tend to attract trouble."
A beat of silence settled over the table. The clatter and chatter, felt louder now, almost intrusive.
Trying to break the tension, Milagros nudged his tray with a finger.
"Co on. Eat. Cold food tastes worse."
He obediently picked up his spoon but froze halfway to his mouth. Sothing about the texture caught his attention.
"Uh… what kind of at is this, exactly?" he asked, cautious.
Milagros turned her head slowly, her gaze sharpening, thoughtful—and just a little feral. The pause she left lingered just beyond comfort.
"Don't worry," she said finally, voice soft as a sigh. "Just lamb."
He exhaled, shoulders loosening, and took a bite at last. But before he could swallow, she leaned in close enough for her breath to tickle his ear.
"Though," she whispered, "if you do happen to find a human finger in there… just give it to ."
William choked, almost dropping the spoon, while Milagros calmly went back to sipping her juice, satisfied.
Letecia covered her mouth, trying and failing not to laugh.
"Milah, you're impossible."
"But honest," Milagros replied, flashing a wicked little wink.
"Honest," he muttered, side‑eyeing Milagros, "that word doesn't an what you think it ans."
Milagros took another unhurried sip of juice, watching him over the rim of the cup. "Depends on the dictionary," she said, voice low, velvet edged with steel.
Letecia laughed, the sound bright and lazy, like sunlight dripping through blinds. "Oh, sugar, you best stop teasin' her. M'honey here's got a bite behind that smile."
He gave a dry chuckle, then leaned back in his chair, trying to reclaim a sliver of confidence. "Yeah. I noticed." He paused, glancing between them. "So, what now? You've slled , studied my aura, nearly strangled —and terrified every student in a five‑ter radius. What's next? Blood test? Dissection?"
Letecia's grin curved slow and sly. "Now, ain't that an idea."
Milagros set her cup down with a soft clink. "Relax. We're not that curious—yet. But if your little mystery starts attracting attention from the higher Phenona, you might want to learn faster. They don't admire anomalies. They dissect them."
The words slipped under his skin, colder than he wanted to admit. "That's comforting," he said, trying for humor and failing miserably.
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