He was burning.

I could feel it through his clothes, through my arms. His body limp, his skin clammy, and the way his breath hitched in his throat—it wasn’t exhaustion. It was almost like poison.

Could it be the wolfsbane he has personally chosen to keep spraying?

I carried him fast, boots slamming against packed dirt as trainees parted around us. No one dared speak. They knew better than to step in when a wolf like me had that look in his eye.

The only sound was his shallow breathing ...