Cold white fur and pale golden sleeves, painted around sorrowful brown eyes.

Abigail Hobb's daemon crouched on the ragged edge of the porch, toes curled around to grip the wood, tail curled underneath to hide the trembling in it.

White tufted ears were held flat against a furred, almost human-like head, marmoset lips open in so small a breath as though afraid to speak.

Arms curled around his chest, Will Graham dug his dirt-blackened fingers into his shoulder, his eyes falling against his will to the frightened soul crouched trembling just a few inches away.

The first siren's wail faded into the air, and behind the closed door, his pack's voices began a steadily rising howl.

He turned away, closing his eyes against the sight.

A quiet, terrified voice whispered trembling through the air, "P-please..."

A tear found its way down his cheek even as the crunch of gravel on tires rolled to a stop a few feet away.

"You're nothing but a ghost," He whispered, as the first officer descended from their vehicle.

The cold whisper of metal fell around his wrists as Jack Crawford's heavy hand descended on his shoulder, his bloodhound daemon pausing a few feet away, a high whine in her throat as she scented the crimson that stained his hands so visibly. "Will?" Jack's voice came from so far away, "Will, where is Kali?"

Kali.

Kali?

He didn't know where Kali was.

"I don't know." He whispered, clenching his eyes shut tighter so that he wouldn't have to see the ghost crouched next to him, "I don't know. Probably inside."

Inside, with his pack, where she could hide. From him. From the thing in their sink. From what they'd done. "She's probably inside." He whispered.

Terrifying images rushed through the space behind his eyes. A knife in his hand. Kali's deadly fangs bared. Blood splashing out of an already scarred throat. The shriek of terror and pain as his daemon's teeth found their way to the next of the fragile creature sitting shivering just a hand's breadth away.

He was nothing but a ghost.

Because Abigail Hobbs was dead.

And he'd killed her.

When he opened his eyes again, Jack Crawford had disappeared, and Alana Bloom had taken his spot at his shoulder. Her eyes were worried, and her daemon fluttering his fragile wings on her shoulder.

He was a sapho longwing. Will tried to ignore the blotch of red that showed when his wings were closed. It looked too much like blood to bear.

"Will?" He closed his eyes again. The handcuffs were heavy on his wrists. He didn't want to hear what he knew she was going to say. What he knew she was going to ask.

"I'm unstable." He said, picturing himself looking over at the ghost again. "You were right to be afraid."

Jack's heavy footsteps creaking on the wooden floor and the sound of his bloodhound's claws clicking in turn announced the return of his daemon from wherever she had hidden while he'd been sitting on the porch. Though his eyes were still closed, he didn't need to open them to see her.

Her head was bowed, her body crouched, her tail dragging the floor. Her steps were silent, claws drawn in, body trembling with fear. Not of Bersheyna, Jack's daemon, or even the subtle butterfly gaze of Chayvetz. She was afraid of herself. Of him. Of what they had done.

She cringed to the floor beside him, her fur only a breath away from touching his arm, and whispered softly, her heart breaking, "Senteron."

Because she could see him too. He wondered if she could feel the rush of golden light that would had blown past her just as he could feel the slow crawl of blood along his skin.

When he opened his eyes again, it wasn't just the gold and white marmoset that sat crouched and trembling on his porch. Abigail was there too, daemon clutched to her chest, blood matted to the side of her head and pouring down in an endless river. Her eyes stared at him, filled with fear and terror, and begged the question.

"Why?"

His voice came out sounding separate from his own. It didn't belong to him, hollow and confused.

Jack was speaking again, his hand on Will's shoulder, and he was being urged to his feet, and without even understanding what it was he was doing, he stood, watching from outside his body as the man named Will Graham and his leopard daemon got to their trembling feet, and were led toward the police cruisers that had pulled up in front of the large house.

The ghost of Abigail Hobbs stood next to him and the leopard at his feet, marmoset clutched to her chest, his arms wrapped around her torn and ribboned throat, white fur slowly turning red. "Why?" She asked, her voice shaking.

With glazed eyes, he turned to look at her, but was met with the empty seat of the police vehicle. Kali had curled up at his feet. Her golden eyes gazed silently up and past him, empty and unseeing for the horror they had committed.

"I don't know." He whispered.

And then the world outside the window faded into the distance, and his mind let him slip into the shadows of his consciousness.