What the hell am I gonna do?

What the fuck am I gonna do?

Those two question were the only two thoughts Hafsa had for days, rotating between themselves in shifts, buzzing around her brain like flies around a corpse.

Like Jasmine's corpse.

The week of no school is proving to be far more a curse than it was a blessing. Cooped up at her parents' house, unable to do much of anything except writhe around in anxiety is nothing more than an exercise in futility. Her sleep and appetite had all but vanished. Even her social media had begun to suffer both in quality and quantity of her posts.

But what could she do? She knows who the predator is, but what does that matter? She has no proof to give to the police, no guts to confront Priya about it, and absolutely no one to help her.

So what the hell is she gonna do?

"Kitten, lunch is ready!" Her mother's voice calls from downstairs.

"Coming!" She replies in a perfect imitation of a serval who isn't having a panic attack.

Those two questions still rattle around her mind as she forces a meal down her throat, only half cognizant of the conversation she and her parents are having.

How did she manage to get wrapped up in this giant mess? All she wanted was to have a normal popular high school girl existence, not take down a serial killer.

"Kitten…Is everything okay?" Her mom suddenly asks, snapping her back to reality.

Hafsa realizes her ears had been drooping. Very uncharacteristic of her. She quickly perks them back up and offers a warm smile. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"It's just that… you've been kind of low energy these past couple of days. I thought you would be excited to have some more days off to spend with your friends, but you've barely gone out at all."

"Oh…" The younger cat quickly thinks of a lie. "They just gave us a lot of homework to do, and I still need to plan a lot of things for student council."

"Are you sure…?" Her mother tilts her head. "Could it be… are you having boy troubles?"

Both Hafsa and her father choke on their food.

"M-Mama!" She hisses. "That's not at all what's happening!"

"D-don't be ridiculous!" Her father adds, punching at his chest to hack up the remaining bits of broccoli stuck in his windpipe.

Mama rolls her eyes. "I was your age once too, you know. It's not that big a deal. What ever happened to that secretary of yours? The caracal? He was very handsome."

"MAMA!"

"NASIDA!"

"What?" She asks innocently.

Hafsa slams her hands on the table and gets up. "I'm done with my meal and I'm going to do my homework. Home. Work." With a final huff, she abandons her half-eaten plate and rushes up the stairs. Her parents can hear her angry steps until she finally slams her door shut.

Her mother chuckles to herself. "Seems I hit the nail on the head."

The male shoots her a look. "You're setting a bad example."

Now in her room, Hafsa paces wildly around trying to forget her mother's completely inappropriate and incorrect assumption. Boys are the last thing on her mind now.

That being said…

Solomon could be the only person able to help. He's smart, reliable, and most importantly, a male carnivore that can defend himself. If she revealed the culprit to him, he might know what to do. She thinks back on that day at the mall with Capi. He really knows what to do in difficult situations. Steeling her resolve, she grabs her smartphone off of her desk and opens up WuffApp.

Forty three minutes and a bus ride later, she's at a park near the town center. It's a crisp autumn afternoon, and the endless lines of trees are ablaze in fiery colors that reflect in a vibrant mess off of the nearby pond. But she is not alone. Accompanying her strides is Solomon, hands in the pocket of his trench coat.

"How unexpected of you to invite me for a walk, President." He initiates in his typical debonair tone. "A surprise, but certainly a welcome one."

Hafsa lets out a weak laugh, but her face quickly turns stoic. "I'm sorry but I didn't call you out here for just a walk."

"I like the sound of that."

"Solomon. I think I know who the predator is."

That wipes the smile off of the male's face quick.

The two seat themselves along the grassy banks of the pond. Once Hafsa finishes recounting the horrifying investigation she had led, and its even more gruesome conclusion, she falls silent, awaiting his reply. He doesn't say anything for a long time. Hunched over his knees, he gazes fixedly into the rippling pond as if entranced. Eventually, his jaw lowers, but no sound comes out for a few seconds.

Finally, he speaks. "…You're… certain?"

"No. But it's a pretty strong hypothesis. Think about it, both victims were from the gardening club despite Priya never mentioning them in the club reports, both bodies were at one point in the shed only she enters, she brought a herbivore to run an item check on a rainy day, even the stalker on the lawn would make sense… it all adds up."

"Right…" Solomon's voice is small and muffled by the fabric of his coat.

"So… what should we do?"

Another long stretch of silence.

"Are you the only one who knows?"

"I think so. I mean, I don't know."

More silence, the longest one so far.

A heavy sigh escapes the male's lips followed by some wheezing chuckles. "Why must you be so nosy…?"

Hafsa returns a tired snicker. "It's a bad habit."

"Very well," He begins as he heaves himself back into an upright position and stretches his slender legs out on the crunching dead leaves underneath him "Let's see what we can do…"

Uh oh. Hafsa realizes she has summoned The Ranting Solomon.

"As it stands, reporting this to the police is out of the question for now. It's pure conjecture, no matter how much we may be personally convinced. We'll need definitive proof for a crime as big as predation. Ideally, a confession, or being caught in the act. Let's try to avoid the latter, for obvious reasons. Considering her two attacks were fairly spaced out from each other, it's unlikely she will strike again any time soon. I say we should play that to our strengths and attempt to gather as much information as we can, and hopefully discover the whole truth. There is also the possibility the school or police could resolve this issue on its own. That would be perfect. But I suppose you wouldn't want to wait around for authorities. Therefore, the most logical course of action is something that even we can do, but not overly accusatory."

The caracal stops to take in a much needed breath. He closes his eyes and his expression seems to turn stormy for a second.

"The main mystery here is motive. That's what we would need to find."

Hafsa tilts her head. "Motive? If it's predation, that would mean she killed so she could eat, right?"

"We don't know that's the case necessarily. We never did find out what happened to Isaac's body after the abduction, and Jasmine was left dead in the shed. This could be something else entirely."

The serval's mental gears grind together furiously, until her eyes suddenly light up.

"I read once that herbie-carnie hybrids can be born with urges to kill without feeling hunger!" She exclaims.

"What do hybrids have to do with this?"

"Prima is a hybrid!… I think."

"You think?"

Hafsa scratches her chin. "Desmond told me that Peter told him that Priya told him that she was a herbie-carnie hybrid. He told me that because she was a hybrid, she didn't crave meat, but what if it was actually the opposite? Boom."

Solomon's face resembles more of a Pallas cat's than a caracal's. "…Right. That's always a possibility… I suppose."

"You don't look very supposey right now."

"More importantly," Her comment is brushed aside. "This Peter… I assume he is that bighorn ram that's always with her? We should ask him if he's noticed anything odd with her."

The serval nods. "Could you ask him, then? I'll try to talk to Priya."

Solomon frowns. "Don't needlessly endanger yourself like that. If she really is dangerous, it's better if I go speak to her."

"We're closer!" Hafsa pouts. "Besides, females and males are more honest with their own sex, you know? So you go to Peter."

Now it's Solomon's turn to pout. "Are you not honest with me…?"

"More honest, I said."

"More honest." He repeats before his expression grows a shade darker. "Would like to hear my opinion rather than my advice?"

"...What's the difference?"

"My advice comes from the brain, my opinion comes from the heart. Or something like that." He explains in a gentle tone. "My opinion is that you should drop this."

Hafsa's ears flatten. "What do you mean?"

"I… still have my reservations on your theory. Even if you are correct, I see little incentive to play detective and investigate what could be a very dangerous threat. What precisely are you gaining from this?"

"Gaining…?"

Frustration boils up inside her. Is that all he can think about? Costs and benefits? Is catching a predator only worth if the numbers on a spreadsheet add up?

…No, she has no right to get mad at him. This isn't his way of thinking, it's the carnivore's way. Most of her acts of charity are run through the same cost-benefit analysis. Help only if it makes you look good. Intervene only if someone else is watching. Give what you don't mind losing. All carnivores are selfish creatures like that.

So really… What is she gaining from this? She doesn't exactly want her name attached to these string of murders, even if in a positive way. That could be messy later on in life; a carnie is far better off not being mentioned in the same sentence as the word 'predator', even if it comes after the word 'caught'.

The safety of the school also comes to mind. Nobody would want to share the same halls and dorms as a killer, even if they are not at risk. But at the same time, someone as deeply unqualified to pursue criminal justice as her truly has no business sticking her nose in this. As Solomon said, that should be the police's job.

What indeed… To Hafsa's surprise, she never truly stopped and asked herself that before. It all just kind of happened, and incredibly quickly to boot. She never thought of herself as the morally upright type, at least not privately.

Maybe because it's Priya. No, she was invested long before Priya was a suspicious party. Maybe because the predator stalked the student council. Maybe because they were a sheep killer. Maybe many things. The more she thought about it, the less sense it made to her.

"I guess…" She speaks up hesitantly after far too long. "I'm not gaining anything. But I just feel like I should."

Solomon's expression almost reads as disappointed. "Then that's your opinion. Let's hope you have better advice."

Ever since his excursion to the black market with Priya, Desmond has been sitting on his ass, doing nothing at all. Even on the day before they return to school, he languishes on his bed, staring at the wooden planks supporting the mattress above him. There is nothing to do. All he found out was that a crazy cult was having a crazy party at the end of next month. A bunch of crazy sheep eating carnies. Crazily. No direct connection to Noah's Arc whatsoever. He tried to be Sherlock, and nothing came of it.

So why?

Why does he want to talk to Hafsa about it so badly?!

She has nothing to do with this and wants nothing to do with him! That's even why he brought Priya instead of her! What kind of moron would want to throw all of that aside and rant to her about the freaky stuff he went through?!

Me. Me do.

He violently flips over, rubbing his face into his pillow.

Stupid lovestruck idiot! Wool-for-brains! Stop thinking about her now of all times! Stop thinking about her, period! Stop thinking!

A ripping sound causes him to begrudgingly sit back up. He looks down sees his pillow case with a deep gash on either end bleeding out feathers onto his bedsheets.

Sigh. Yet another ripped pillow.

He hobbles off of his bed, nearly slipping and falling on his butt in the process (socks plus smooth wooden floor is a dangerous combination).

"Maaaa!" He bleats out pathetically while plodding to the living room. "We got any spare pillows?"

"You tore another one, you naughty boy?" A high-pitched voice replies. One far too high pitched to be his mother. Desmond groans.

Kane attacks from behind, locking his younger brother's head in place with a forceful arm around the neck. "You'll have to sleep on the floor now, you naughty lamb! Naughty, naughty!" He cries in a shrill voice.

"Do you think you're fucking funny or something?" Desmond grumbles, struggling to break free. Despite being captain of the ram fighting team, all of his skill seems to abandon him when dealing with his siblings.

"I'd actually go with 'hilarious'."

"I'd go with 'die in a fire'." Desmond retorts with a sneer once he finally wriggles free. "Go back to college or something."

"It's Sunday, Dezzy. Sorry I'm the only son in this family who loves and appreciates his parents enough to visit on weekends!" He yells out 'loves' and 'appreciates' emphatically so that his parents could hear him. Neither of them acknowledge him. "Excited to go back to school? Why did it even close down again?"

"Construction work. And yeah, I'm dying to get back to my dorm."

"I thought your roommate was a pain in the ass."

"Sure is. But you're a way bigger one."

"Awwww!" Kane squeals. "You love me so much, Dezzy! It brings a tear to my eye!"

"You make me cry too, but for different reasons."

"Don't be like that," Kane winks, hopping onto the living room couching and fishing for the TV remote witting the cushion crevices. "Watch some Of Mice and Moose with me."

"Fine."

Desmond joins his brother on the couch. He and Kane often watch sitcoms together, mainly because it was the only thing Kane ever watched. Desmond finds most of those kinds of shows to be terribly corny, but then again, so is Kane. Of Mice and Moose is one of the older sibling's favorite; some trite plot about a family of mice adopting a comically large moose baby. Hilarity ensues. It's as good a distraction as any. Kane scrolls through the list of episodes with great concentration. After going through all of the seasons, he finally settles on an episode from season three entitled 'Antler? I Don't Even Know Her!".

"Oh, this is a good one."

Desmond rolls his eyes. After his brother presses play, the two watch the wacky hijinks and bad jokes. Ignoring Kane's idiotic commentary and wheezing laughter, the smaller ram's attention begins to drift away from the TV screen.

"Hey…" He starts, surprisingly even himself. "Remember when you got attacked by a carnie on the streets?"

Kane looks at him with a look of suspicious confusion. "Uh, yeah. It happened this year, remember?"

"Right. Did you… see what type of animal got you?"

"…No. Doctors said it could've been any kind because it used a knife instead of fangs or claws. They said a bunch of carnies are doing that nowadays to not be traceable. Not leaving DNA evidence and shit."

"So it could've been any kind of animal? Not just a carnie?"

"Sure, but considering it didn't steal anything from me, and that it was trying to drag me away, it was definitely a predator. It was during sheep season, after all."

"Do you at least remember if it was about your height?"

"Damn, Dezzy, it snuck up from behind. I really didn't see a thing. Can we not talk about this? You're harshing my Of Mice and Moose vibes right now."

"By all means, vibe away."

After a meaningless couple of hours binging the sitcom and a meaningless dinner, Desmond decides to call it a night so that he can prepare for the early commute back to Noah's Arc (after his mother sews his pillow back in one piece). He lies on his bed listening to the distant laugh track of Kane's sitcom.

But something on the back of his head still pesters him. An annoying, incessant feeling he should be doing something. Talking to someone. Will this feeling haunt him for the rest of his life? Moved by his ennui, he grabs his plugged in phone from the floor. He bring the screen up to his face and flinches at the sudden glare of bright light on his sensitive eyeballs. After a few seconds of squinting, his eyes finally adjust to the rectangular light and he enters WuffApp. He scrolls down his list of messages but slams his thumb down on the screen once a certain name flashes by.

Hafsa.

According to the messages, it'd been a little over two months since they last texted, not counting the student council group chat. It felt like much more than that to Desmond.

He sighs. He had made a thousand resolutions, a thousand promises, a thousand farewells. To forever leave her alone, and never again bother her with his weak heart. He had a thousand arguments with himself, a thousand justifications, a thousand good reasons why not.

But none of those thousands of things surpasses his one desire to hear from her.

The predations going on in school scare him, but really, even if none of this were happening, he doubts his feelings would change all that much. The days would still feel longer, the food would still taste blander, the colors would still look paler. Despite the world crumbling around him, cults and murders and all, the worst thing in his life still manages to be the lack of her.

He's lovesick. If the killer were caught tomorrow, that fact wouldn't change.

He realizes how unreasonable that is. How warped his priorities are, how immature and hypocritical he is. But after two months of agony, he no longer gives a shit about any of that. He's willing to be the annoying sheep who won't stop pestering her.

Three letters, and hit send.

"Hey."

It only takes a few seconds until the two check marks under his text turn blue.

It says that she's typing.

AN: Thanks for reading! I'd like to thank everyone for their patience when it comes to my uploads. It's annoying for me too, believe me. Nevertheless, I hope it's still an enjoyable ride. It is for me, at least.

I always love an excuse to include Desmond's brothers, as well as Dezzy being a sappy little mess. Consider this an extra self indulgence on my part.

Take it easy and stay safe.