Page 84 of The Turning of the Tables

No updates on the case,he told me.

I was trying to figure out what to say, when the dots appeared again.

You’re not the only one who came out of this changed,he sent, and my pulse escalated, which led to that horrible prickling all over my skin. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deeply, trying to force the shift back, push the fur back down, suck my own sharp teeth back into my jaw.

I’m sure that’s not at all how that actually worked, biologically speaking, but that’s how I visualized it.

When I had myself under control again, I opened my eyes to find another message.

I might look the same,Maza had sent.But I’m not. I know it isn’t exactly the same thing, but I feel you at least a little.

I let out a long breath. He was at least likely to be able to keep his job if he was an Arc. Whether I would be was a question I didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about just yet.

Thanks, I sent back.

I’ll update you if I hear anything more.

I couldn’t quite make myself care about that. About the case. I knew I should, but I didn’t have the energy, not mentally, not physically, not emotionally.

I pulled up what Quincy had sent me.

You okay?

Seth, you’re making me worried.

Really worried now.

I’m back at the office, and you’re not here, and I’m scared for you.

By the way, it’s the same viral DNA. But I didn’t tell you that.

You should probably delete that last message when you get this.

I hope you get it soon.

They told us they didn’t know when you were coming back.

Are you coming back?

Please text me when you can.

Miss you.

The string of messages, all of them unanswered, made me feel warm and… no, not fuzzy. I was not going to use that expression in the same way ever again, since I now could literally make myself feel warm and fuzzy.

I hated this shit. I hated being a shifter.

I texted her back:Miss you too. Doing better but howling atteh moon.

I joked, but I didn’t mean it. There was no humor in it—just the understanding that I was expected to take this with good humor. That I was expected to still be the same old Seth Mays they’d always known, despite the fact that I’d literally spent a week turning inside out.

I wasn’t the same.

I didn’t want to be.

Maybe someday, I would. Maybe I’d get back to my ‘old self.’ But that wasn’t going to be today, and it probably wasn’t going to be anytime in the next month or maybe even year. Call it grief if you want, or self-loathing, or whatever psychological terminology makes it make sense. But I wasn’t the same person, even though I knew most people would expect me to be.

It’s just a bout of Arcana. No big deal.