A savory fragrance. A thick, golden brown sauce. A crisp sprig of parsley on top. A perfectly seared, medium-rare filet mignon. A nostalgic sight.

Solomon gazes down at the plate while his brown, blurry reflection stares up at him from the gravy. He reaches for the knife and fork resting at either side of the dish, and looks up to meet his father's eye.

"Bon apetit."

Father, mother, and son begin the illegal feast.

"I apologize again for inviting myself so suddenly." Solomon begins while cutting off a piece of meat, his speech as polite as it is dry.

"A son need not apologize for that." His father assures him alongside his nodding mother. "We're happy to have you. It's been a while."

"Indeed."

The older male's look of approval reveals a hint of suspicion. "What brought about this sudden change of heart?"

Solomon smiles cooly. "In truth, I have a very pressing matter to attend to. One that would greatly benefit from the knowledge of a respected member of medical community. One regarding the trade of… this." He points to his meal with the tip of his knife.

His father frowns. "Don't tell me you've stooped so low as to peddle meat to riffraff?"

"Of course not. I'm actually trying to get in touch with an acquaintance of mine. But I feel like the most expedient way to do so is through the cartel."

"No shady business?"

"No shadier than yours, father."

The grey caracal considers this in between bites. "Depending on what you're asking I may be able to help you. But it saddens me you only think to come home to ask for a favor."

"Consider this a long overdue… olive branch. I knew I can only ever have a proper conversation with you during these Sunday lunches. You must admit, I'm being courteous by being here now despite my reservations."

His father's eyes narrow. "Seems you've gotten more glib. No matter. A father's love is eternally met with ingratitude."

His wife taps his arms with a pinkie, offering a pleading look. His expression softens.

"Well, you're here now. The damage is done. After lunch, come to my office and we will sort you out."

Solomon wipes his mouth with a napkin. "Much appreciated."

Thoughts waft in and out like leaves. Darkness with brief moments of jumbled up sensations: a familiar memory, an itching ear. Something weighs down on her, paralyzing her. Her body craved more rest, but her mind grew agitated in its prison. She tries moving, though she no longer remembers which appendage is which. Is she stretching her finger or her tail now? A rush of wind and movement greets what is probably her face.

Roller coaster. Another thought that goes in and out of her, now at least somewhat observational.

She detects sound. That was something that was so easy for her to do, a serval's specialty, but now, the sensation feels disjointed and unclear. Sounds… An h, a sharp f, an s… Hafsa is what they're saying. That's her. She tries calling back, unsure if she is successful. The 'Hafsa's continue, now in between some other sounds, too fast and faded to be comprehensible. She changes her approach, now focusing on recognizing the voice. It's a masculine voice. Not Molly's, not Brian's not any of the cheerleaders, not mom or dad's, not Blake's…

Desmond. Right, right, it's Desmond's. She tries her best to shake off the confusing drowsiness enveloping her. The sheep's face comes into view, whirling and sporadic like a dragonfly mid-flight. The word 'roller coaster' pops back into her head.

"Roller coaster?" Desmond repeats incredulously. "Hafsa, it's me, Desmond! Snap out of it!"

He lightly slaps her cheeks, hoping it would snap some sense back into her, but the feline hardly reacts. Between her glazed over eyes, her slack jaw, and her ears swiveling around like crazy, he could tell the while technically 'awake', Hafsa is nowhere near responsive. What kind of drug did Priya give her?

Nighttime fell all too slowly. He could only do so much in a locked room with a comatose companion. Despite that, he feels more confident about the whole situation after the miraculous call with Solomon. He stashed the phone in a discreet corner just in case (it's not wise to keep it on his person, even in his wool) but for now, he and Hafsa are on their own until (or if) help arrives.

Even if there is that little twinkle of hope in the far horizon, it's hard for Desmond to keep his spirits up. Thought of Peter bogged his mind, dulled his drive. Not to mention he could be joining Peter at any moment. He still has no idea about the cult's intentions. The fact they kept them alive until now is a surprise to begin with. And then of course, Hafsa suddenly woke up, which was an even bigger surprise. Given how zonked she is, this may be a worse situation than her being unconscious. If, for example, she decides that she's hungry, she certainly doesn't have the cognitive sophistication to stop herself from eating the sheep up in one bite.

"D'zmund…" She groans through gritted teeth. The 'D'zmund' in question perks up at this.

"Yes! Desmond!" He encourages. "Me, Desmond! You, Hafsa!" The sheep wonders if talking to her like a troglodyte is as humiliating to her as it is to him. But one look into her vacant eyes proves she is clearly not bothered.

"Hng…" Hafsa grumbles. Her hands reach out, sloppily feeling out Desmond's face. She paws at his forehead, cheek, snout, chin, horns and everything in between, which all progressively redden and heat up during the process. The impromptu face massage wouldn't be half bad were it not for Hafsa's claws.

"O-okay…" He says quietly, trying not to startle her. "We're just gonna… not. Do that." He scoops up her hands and place them back on her lap. Hafsa doesn't seem to understand but complies. Before she begins to have other ideas, both animals are startled by the sudden snap of the door's lock. An Assaf sheep, no older than 40, lets herself in with a silver tray identical to the one on Desmond's bed.

"Here are your dinners." She announces modestly, removing the old platter and replacing it with the new one. Atop it sit two cheese sandwiches. A depressing meal for a depressing situation. Desmond takes this opportunity to try and squeeze as much information as he can out of the ewe.

"Wait up. Can you at least tell us why we're here? What do you want from us?"

The Assaf ewe looks at him disinterestedly. "If Lady Priya has not explained this to you, then I have no authority to."

She goes to leave but the ram scrambles behind her. "Then! Let us talk to her! Bring her here!"

"I will inform her that you wish to speak to her."

And with that, the door is shut and locked once more, the room now only two crummy sandwiches richer. Desmond returns miserably to the beds to find Hafsa having already eaten both of their meals, now licking any remaining crumbs off of her fingers.

"Hafsa!" He bleats. "That could have been drugged!"

She seems all too pleased with herself despite his chiding. He groans and flops back on the bed.

"Desmond…"

His ears prick up. His name came out considerably less slurred this time around. Could the sandwiches have sobered her up?

He tries to coax more words out of her. "Yeah?"

"Where… are we?"

"I don't really know. Priya kidnapped both of us and is holding us… hostage, I guess? I don't really know what she wants."

"I'm sorry…" Her eyes suddenly fill with tears. "This's all my fault. Now you're here too."

"It's not your fault. You're not the one who locked us up here."

"But…" She blubbers, burying her face in her hands. "But… I put us in danger by sticking my big fat nose where it doesn't belong… And my nose… really hurts. I think it's swollen so it's even bigger then normaaaaal…"

The waterworks are released. Hafsa breaks down into tears, curling into herself in the furthest corner of her bed. Desmond sighs, half out of sympathy and half out of amusement at the groggy cat's theatrics.

"Your nose is fine, Hafsa. You're still as beautiful as ever."

"Don't call me beautiful…" She whines.

"You are beautiful. Get over it."

She curls up tighter into herself. "Jerk…"

Desmond scratches at his wool as silence fills the space between them. Maybe the adrenaline coursing through him gave him more boldness than usual, but even so… flirting in a situation like this is pretty lame.

"I'm sorry…" The serval repeats quietly. "I'm sorry for ignoring you for all those months. And… for acting so cold. I never apologized for it."

"You had every right to. I'm sorry for not sticking up for you when I should have."

"Then I guess we're both just sorry saps."

"That about sums us up, yeah." The ram chuckles.

Hafsa finally uncurls herself and looks back towards her companion. "I really am glad you're here. I mean, obviously, I wish you weren't trapped here, but I'm still happy you're… here. With me. Am I horrible for thinking that?"

"Just about as horrible as I am. So it seems we're both sorry saps and horrible."

"We just can't win, huh?"

She inches closer towards him (each scoot making the ram's face a deeper shade of red) until they were touching thighs.

"A-are you… feeling better?" Desmond asks, gripping his horns like a life line.

"A little bit. Still really dizzy."

"God, what did Priya give you? Horse tranquilizer?"

"I don't know.. One second, she's got me pinned down, stabbing me with a needle, and the next second I'm here. How did you even get here? Did she hunt you down?"

"No, I kinda walked in on her in the garden shed, with you. And… Peter."

Hafsa's eyes widen. "Peter's here too?"

"No. He's dead."

"Des, I…" Her voice falters. "I'm so sorry." Her strong arms pull him in for a tight hug, which he accepts without a struggle. Her warmth melts through his rational mind, releasing the sorrowful creature that he had tried so desperately to cage. Now it's his turn to cry, which he does in choked sobs.

Peter was a good kid. He didn't deserve to die like that, defenseless and unprepared at the hands of someone he trusted. How sickeningly ironic. He would probably still be alive and well, blissfully ignorant, if Desmond had not tried to warn him. He unwittingly sent Peter into Priya's jaws.

"I-it's..." Desmond hiccups into Hafsa's spotted fur. "It's all m-my fault... I... I sh-shouldn't have t-told him..."

She shushes him, arms tightening even more around him as if she could squeeze such thoughts out. "It's not your fault, Des. You didn't do this. They did."

"H-he was my f-friend... And he died h-hating me."

"You know he didn't. Peter would never hate anyone, especially not you. You were his friend, his captain, till the very end."

This breaks him. His stifled sobs turn into wails of grief, more powerful than any wolf's howl. To a sheep, losing a member of the herd is one of the most devastating experiences life can bring; it's the loss of another you. In all his pride, it's only now Desmond realizes Peter was part of his herd. The life that awaits him, the one Peter could never see, will be one tinged with a sense of incompleteness. Forever missing a phantom limb.

Why did nature do this? Why should the loss of one individual hinder another? Why does death attack through love? Neither Desmond nor Hafsa could figure out why. Maybe it's just as senseless a choice as the green color of leaves. Maybe it's the universe's way of saying that despite everything, despite the shell of individuality one must live in, animals can never exist alone. Existence begets love, and one is punished for loving.

Desmond does not think in such elegant terms. Instead, he is tossed around by his tempestuous emotions until, after enough time and enough kind words from Hafsa, his tears soak into the wool on his cheek.

"When we get out of here, we'll give him a nice funeral." He trembles. "Not before I kill her for what she did to Pete."

Hafsa strokes his back. "How are we gonna get out, though?"

"We're not out of options yet. Help should be coming if we can't bust out ourselves."

The serval pulls away to give him a quizzical look. "Help?"

He exhales, a trace of a smirk on his lips. "I'll tell you about it when you're a bit less loopy."

Priya gently knocks on the cold metal door of the walk-in freezer.

"Enter." An equally cold voice answers from the other side.

Two sheep await on the other side, a Suffolk ram and ewe, surrounded by a line of hung corpses of both sheep and miscellaneous types of carnivores. Removed of clothing and excess fur, they gently swivel around from side to side within the misty frost of the freezer.

"We have much to discuss." The ram says tersely, making a half hearted gesture for Priya to approach.

The tigress does as she is told and joins the two sheep in inspecting the carcasses.

"You've really made things difficult, child." The ewe begins.

"I know, Mother."

"Do you?" The ewe sneers. "Then you must know that we do not have the means to house the animals you recklessly dragged into this holy abode. We may have to expedite the Banquet because of your inability to maintain cover."

"…I'm sorry, Mother. But they were getting suspicious and—"

"Whose fault do you think that is?" The ram interjects. "Your conduct in that school has been careless at best. I should have unenrolled you after the incident with the wolverine."

"Sh-she had also figured out what had happened to the Ryeland…" Priya replies meekly. "I-I was just trying to avoid being found out."

The ram sighs. "Disappointing. I never would have asked you to procure more sacrifices had I known you would do this despicable a job at discretion. But now is not the time to dwell on mistakes. The hour of rebirth is at hand. Your sins as well as your negligence shall soon be cleansed."

"Yes, Father."

"As for the other sheep you killed. The bighorn." The female Suffolk points at a sealed tarp bag in the corner of the freezer. "He was your original pick for your First Feast, no? What a waste you killed him. We don't even need him."

"Right. The Jacob sheep will be my First Feast, as we agreed on. He was the one investigating us, after all."

"Why did you bring the body along with the sacrifices, then? Taking it is completely unnecessary and more inconvenient. Why not leave him on school grounds like the wolverine?"

Priya looks down. "I… I thought we could bury him."

Both sheep gape at her, cold eyes barely standing out from their black fur.

"Certainly not." Priya's mother dismisses. "His soul died incomplete and dirty. If you truly want to respect him, consume him yourself so he may finally unify with his Other Half."

"I…" The tigress begins, but finds no strength to complete her sentence. "Very well. Leave him here for now, please."

"Oh, child." The ram sighs. "Until the very end, you fail us. I pray salvation will come swiftly, for your sake. For now, just stay out of the way until the Banquet."

"Yes, Father."

With a final bow, she leaves the frigid dungeon, her uneven breaths trailing behind as puffs of mist. She's surprised to see an ewe awaiting outside the door for her.

"Mistress Priya."

"Good evening."

"The sacrifices wish to speak with you. The herbivore is especially agitated."

Priya nods. "Very well. Has the serval woken up yet?"

"She had just woken up when I arrived. She should be steadily regaining consciousness."

"I see. Thank you."

The tigress makes a stop to the building's infirmary for a fresh dose of tranquilizer before returning to the guest room, where Desmond and Hafsa are. Unlocking the thick metal bar lock, she is greeted by the sight of both prisoners taking a nap. They are quickly roused by her entrance, though, and their dazed looks of somnolence are replaced by vitriolic scowls.

"Hello." She greets awkwardly as she shuts the door behind her. "I was told you called for me."

"Explain what you want with us." Hafsa speaks up, quickly maneuvering herself to shield the sheep. Her fur, standing on edge, conceals her companion completely.

"How are you feeling, Hafsa? Sorry for the…" Her voice trails off, instead completing the thought by pointing at her left eye. Hafsa's own eye, sealed tight by inflammation, twitched angrily in response.

"Explain." Desmond bleats over Hafsa's shoulder.

"I guess you two deserve that much." Priya leans against the door, settling in for the conversation. "It doesn't matter if you know or not. Not anymore."

She takes a deep breath, fogging up the ends of her nasal tube. "Do you know much about my family? We call ourselves the Kin of Luca. My mother and father started our family many years back. We're all sheep from all walks of life. Even though most of my family isn't related by blood, we're all connected through my parents. And through Luca, like every animal is."

"This is starting to sound familiar…" Hafsa mutters. Maybe Granny is in this very building.

"Luca is the most recent common ancestor of all current life on Earth. We all came from him. So once upon a time, there was no difference between male and female, carnivore and herbivore. Everything was Luca. But somehow, Luca split, creating unbalance and discordance. My family believes that every negative force in the universe, every evil, was created when Luca divided. That's why people suffer. It's because we're all missing our other half. Emotions like guilt, shame, greed, envy… that's all the product of an incomplete soul. But my family… the Kin… we know that we can rekindle that primordial connection with the rights steps. We can… close the gap, as it were. My parents figured out how because they were chosen by Luca.

"I call myself a hybrid, but that's not really true. I mean, it's true that I really don't crave meat. I don't crave any type of food, really. I don't get hungry, and I don't feel fear. I'm neither a carnivore nor a herbivore. That's because when my mother was pregnant with me, she closed her gap by eating both sheep meat and tiger meat. So even though I was supposed to be born a Suffolk sheep just like my parents, I came out a tiger with fur as white as wool. It was a miracle."

"That's impossible!" Desmond barks.

"And despite that, here I am. Living proof." Priya smiles sadly. "My parents want to share this… amalgamation process with others. So that's how my family came to be. Most of us live out normal lives, some live here with us, but we all believe in Luca. And that's where you come in.

"You see, this is a very special year. This is the year my parents predicted will be our time. We will finally get to leave all of our suffering behind. So we've been planning a special Banquet for the whole family so that we may reunite with Luca. On October 31st, the day of my 16th year on this planet, we'll be doing a sacred ceremony designed to combine the herbivorous soul with the carnivorous one.

"There's the First Feast, where we devour our current self, to cleanse our weaknesses. In other words, we eat…" She points a clawed finger at Desmond. "A sheep."

Before either of them can interject, she continues. "Next is the Second Feast, where we eat the desired self. The missing piece to our puzzle. A carnivore. Not just any carnie, too. It needs to resemble you physically. You may have guessed it but, Desmond and Hafsa… you'll be my First and Second Feast, respectively. My family already has their meals ready in the kitchen, but you two… You'll be eaten fresh. Since I was united with Luca since birth. After the Banquet… well. We leave this incomplete world."

Desmond nearly topples off the bed. "Leave…! You're committing mass suicide?!"

"Sure." Priya nods. "If you want to call it that. We'll soon be reborn as new creatures. Something more evolved than an animal. Something neither herbivorous nor carnivorous, something that will never feel hungry, frightened, lonely, incomplete."

"Priya!" Hafsa cries. "You have to realize that's insane! You and your 'family' have ruined so many lives, killed so many innocent animals, all for you to kill yourselves in the end?! For some nonexistent cosmic force?!"

The tigress looks at her with dull eyes. "It doesn't matter now. It's too late to turn back now. My existence is meaningless outside of this."

"Meaningless?!" Desmond screeches. "Was your relationship with Peter meaningless too?!"

Priya flinches at the name, but immediately returns to her dejected disposition. "Do you recall the night Peter was supposed to meet up with me outside of the gymnasium? I had planned to kill him that night."

Desmond gets up quick as a flash to charge at Priya, but Hafsa blocks him and yanks him back to a seated position.

"Calm down." She whispers.

Desmond's furious eyes glance to and fro between both felines, but his body obeys.

"He was my original pick for First Feast." The tiger continues. "But the student council just so happened to be out late on the lawn. I saw you as I left the dorms. It would've been too risky to follow through, so I never showed up to the gym. So, in a way, you saved his life that day."

"You were the stalker…" Hafsa mutters.

"Whatever my relationship with Peter was… It's in the past now. It is the only badge of suffering I have. Maybe it's the only thing I can really treasure. Proof I was alive."

"Some life it is." Hafsa spits. "Being used as a puppet for a fucked up cult."

"Yes. A truly worthless life." Priya agrees. "I'll get my just desserts soon enough. If you believe in hell, you can guess where I'm going."

"How can you just say that?!"

"Like I said, most of my natural instincts are nonexistent. That includes the fear of death."

"I'm guessing you don't feel any remorse either." Desmond mutters.

"That's another story…" Priya glances at the door. "I should probably go now. But before I do…"

She reveals the injection all too familiar to Hafsa. The serval's pupils narrow at the sight of it, and instantly, she hops out of the bed assuming an alert pose.

"I'm sorry, Hafsa," Priya takes as step closer. "But we can't have you attacking anyone."

"I'll be attacking you if you take another step!" The smaller cat hisses.

Desmond looks on helplessly at the increasingly dire situation, swiveling his head from one feline to another. Trembling, in between them facing Priya, two cautious hands up in protest. "D-don't even think about it…" He bleats, sounding much less convincing than his words.

His protests go ignored as the tigress clenches a fist around one of his upper horns with one hand, lifting him off the ground with ease.

"Urgh!" Desmond cries before being launched away into a corner of the room only to land painfully on his right shoulder blade. Seizing the moment of distraction, Priya ducks down to now grab Hafsa's leg and yanks it forward. The serval goes tumbling down only to be immobilized by Priya's elbows and knees. With surreal speed, the tiger once again jabs the needle into Hafsa's exposed thighs and presses down on the plunger until all of the sedative liquid enters her body.

Hafsa only stops yowling after Priya, still panting, reaches the door.

"You'll be down for another two days." Priya says curtly, readjusting her nasal cannula. "We'll figure out what to do by then."

The harsh slam of the door reverberates throughout the small room like the clang of a bell, leaving only the sounds of both serval and sheep's pantings.

Desmond forces himself up with a wince despite his aching shoulder and rushes over to Hafsa.

"Hey! Stay with me!"

However, it's clear that her responsiveness is already beginning to dwindle. Whatever this mystery substance is, it kicks in fast. Whiskers twitching, eyes losing the glint of consciousness, and muscles slacking, she begins her descent into the drug's effect.

"Shit," Desmond mumbles, fruitlessly shaking her. "We can't wait another two days. Please, please, stay with me, Hafsa."

"I-I…" Hafsa stammers. "I got an idea."

"You do?"

"Mhm. But… you need to trust me."

AN: Thanks for reading! I know, a lot of exposition. Hopefully it wasn't too painful, and you got some answers to any lingering questions.

Take it easy and stay safe.