Many animals came to visit Desmond in the hospital. Some of the visits were more pleasant than others.

His family rushed in on the first day as soon as they heard. Despite suffering extreme blood loss, he was still responsive enough to argue with them for hours. Brian and Humbert stopped by several times, always bringing food they snuck in to cheer him up (though he never ate any of it, meaning the birds just ate the snacks themselves). The ram fighting team also stopped by, but Desmond had to feign sleep until they left disappointed. He simply couldn't bear to be in the same room as them without Peter.

Surprisingly, even principal House paid him a visit, though his reasons were obviously less altruistic.

"I see your arm is recovering nicely." The bird began somewhat stiffly, pointing at the ram's forearm, now rugged and disfigured from the healing gashes. "You're leaving soon, right? That's good. I assume you'll want to go stay with your parents for a while, but you're more than welcome to return to your dorm if you wish. A-and yes, I know Noah's Arc may be the last place want to think about, given what has occurred… B-but the school board myself of course included, are truly sorry we allowed things to escalate to such an extent. I know we could have handled it… much better."

He peeked at Desmond, who only looked at him with an apathetic gaze. Sensing he would not be interrupted anytime soon, the goose continued. "Due to our negligence, three students lost their lives and two were abducted. It's an unforgivable lapse in security… And we understand if you would like to unenroll. You and the rest of the student council have served the student body so well, and for you to be repaid like this… well, it's shameful. B-but, if you would like to stay with us, we are willing to attempt to atone for our past blunders. Namely, you and your family would receive a hefty financial compensation along with a full scholarship until graduation. You can of course, discuss this with your parents, but we would be happy to arrange this for you, a-as long as you agree to not press charges against us, that is…"

"I'll consider it."

His tone made it clear to the principal that the conversation was over.

A pair of police officers, a stony-eyed rhino and grey wolf duo, let themselves in one day to request a deposition. The procedure was sterilized, tedious and fruitless; considering the police's previous relationship with the Kin, it's clear they knew practically everything about the supposed Banquet. After all, during his entire stay, not a single news channel mentioned the cult once; the mainstream will never know the story of the Kin of Luca. Nevertheless, Desmond's anemic state left him exhausted and complaisant. He described his hellish experience in full until they offered a dry 'thank you for your cooperation' and left.

The most unexpected visit was his last. He nearly had a heart attack when the damn vulture burst through his hospital room.

"Kiddo!"

After stuffing his heart back down his throat, he shot her an icy glare. "What the fuck are you doing here?! How did you find me?"

"Baby, down in the black market, you can find out anything about anything!" She chirped with a hearty laugh. "And let me tell you, things are crazy down there! Everyone is talking about wha happened to the Kin of Luca. Soon as I heard it, I swear to you, I said 'That's Kiddo's doing. No doubt about it.' So, bless my childlike heart, I knew I had to pay you a visit."

Plopping herself down on the visitors chair, she whipped out a pack of cigarettes from her cargo pants.

"Don't smoke in a hospital, for God's sake."

Her bloodshot eyes narrowed. "Sheesh. Shouldn't you be a bit more hospitable to your guests?"

"Last time I checked, guests need to be invited." He snarked.

"Oh, Kiddo, you kill me."

"Well, as long as you're here, tell me what happened to the Kin. The police won't budge."

"Figures." She snorted. "Word on the street is that on Monday morning, the cops get an anonymous caller saying there's something up in an abandoned apartment complex. They give the address, and the cops immediately know it's the Kin's hideout. They call it a 'monastery' or some shit, but still. Now the Kin's been paying a pretty penny to keep the cops out of their business— they know damn well that cult's been hoarding meat all year— so they were just planning on sending a patrol car, checking in, and fucking off."

Something in Desmond's gut pointed towards Solomon being the 'anonymous caller'. Curse his meticulous plan upstaging him.

She chewed on the tip of an unlit cigarette pensively. "But they get there, and they find a hell of a scene. All of those nutty sheep were freaking out. Apparently, someone went up there pretending to be a cop, putting 'em under arrest, all that. They got scared the police were finally gonna book 'em. I guess they were running out of money and couldn't bribe 'em anymore. So… they got desperate. And you know cults… They always keep cyanide pills with them. Half of the members were stone cold dead by the time the actual cops got there. That includes the two leaders, the, uh, Suffolk sheep, course."

Desmond swallowed hard. How the bearded vulture kept such a casual tone was beyond him.

"A-and the daughter?"

"Daughter? You mean the albino tiger? Haw, she ain't no daughter…" The butcher spat the chewed up remains of the cigarette on the floor. "Cops found a bunch of documents in the leaders' office that had to do with animal trafficking. They got the girl from the black market. Albino tiger cubs are hot merchandise, you know. Must've got her as a mascot or something."

"Don't… talk about it like that." Desmond shakes. "At least pretend to have some compassion."

She rubbed her beak, somewhat embarrassed. "Sorry. Forgot you're such a good noodle. And the tiger… she was your bodyguard way back then, right? If only I had known who she was at the time… Well, it sounds like you guys had a complicated relationship."

"Something like that. So what happened to her? Did she also…"

"Nah, cops found her. She was beat up bad but still kicking. They also confiscated all of the... victims. Once they identify all the bodies, cops'll probably return them to their families. I think the tiger and the remaining Kin are in police custody now, awaiting trial. Not much of a trial, cuz she admitted to everything. But since her 'folks' are gone, the Kin's pretty much over with. No way they're gonna weasel outta this, given how open and shut it is. You won't hear about it on the news, but they'll probably be put in a discreet jail somewhere."

"Even though she's a minor?"

"Might be a minor, but she did a major crime. I've seen younger animals get locked up for less. Jail for life, no doubt about it."

Desmond sank into his bed. How exactly should he feel about this? Ever since his escape, he'd only managed to feel tremendously shitty. Although the Kin of Luca may have been gone for good, he couldn't muster an ounce of relief or joy at the thought. The media was still quiet and their victims were still in body bags… despite what the student council had suffered through, they couldn't do a damn thing about it. They just sped up their inevitable self destruction by a couple of weeks.

"What was all of this for?" The ram whispered, almost to himself.

The vulture looked at him curiously. "Sometimes, bad things just... happen. Bad people hurt and trick others, and they can do it their whole lives without ever knowing they're in the wrong. Just look at me." She pauses, as if carefully considering her words. "When you get caught up in a bad situation… You either learn from it, or you die. It's painful as all hell either way. But getting mad about it… it's like, getting mad about being born. At the end of the day, you just gotta face the facts and go from there."

She leans back her chair with a prolonged hum. "Hey, that sounded profound as shit. Maybe I'm a genius?"

"You're as eloquent as a dung beetle."

After talking to the receptionist and finalizing the last bit of the seemingly never-ending paperwork, Desmond is officially discharged from the hospital after five days. However, he has no intention of leaving so soon. It's still visiting hours after all. On the third floor of the emergency department, he scans the winding hallway's nameplates until he reaches room 311. He braces himself, but his concentration is abruptly interrupted by the door opening. The slim frame of a feline blocks his way.

"Oh." Solomon blurts out at the sight of two tall horns.

Desmond took a step back, surprised. "Oh."

Solomon shuts the door behind him. The two males stare at each other in the empty, sterile hallway, unsure of what face they were supposed to make.

It was Desmond who eventually breaks the silence.

"You look like shit."

This is true. The caracal's face is sunken, his eyes dark and creased with bags. Instead of the male's typical confident posture, his body slouches fitted by an ill-fitting shirt and sweatpants. Not to mention his abnormally unkempt fur.

Despite the sheep's bluntness, Solomon chuckles. "You, too."

"Where have you been?" Desmond asks. "I haven't heard from you since that day."

"I was also recovering, albeit from something different." Solomon replies vaguely. "I had to send Brian over for this reason. I was not in driving condition."

Desmond cocks his head to the side, almost a challenge. "Well, if you don't want to get into it…"

"I was planning on giving you a visit, though. I didn't expect you to be discharged so soon."

"I only had a couple of bruises." Desmond lifts his left arm, exposing his jagged scar. "This was the worst of it."

"Hm. I'm glad you're alright."

"Right…" Desmond looks down at the reflective floor, scratching the matted wool on his neck. "Thanks. For helping us out and everything. Based on how awful you look, I'm guessing you did a lot more than you should've. You were… pretty cool."

A coy smile spreads across Solomon's face. "Your feline fetish worsens by the minute."

"Okay, that's—"

"You have my thanks, too. You kept Hafsa safe. She told me a little bit about what happened. I honestly didn't expect that from you. Wear that scar with pride."

Desmond opens his mouth to say something, but realizes he had no real words to say. Instead, he settles for a nod. Not waiting for much else, Solomon begins to walk down the hallway. After a few steps, he stops, his face still turned away from the other male.

"You know…" He says in an almost nostalgic tone. "There's an old joke among carnivores. Would you like to hear it?"

"Sure."

"A carnie dies, and he ends up in a room that has an endlessly long table covered in meat dishes. Every type of meat that he could imagine was there, hot on the plate, ready to eat. Beef, chicken, pork, even platypus meat are all cooked in every possible way, from steaks, to stews, to nuggets. And it's all his. Now tell me. Do you think he went to heaven, or hell?"

"…I don't know."

"Me neither."

Solomon paused.

"I guess it's not really a joke."

Content with his conclusion, he sauntered off, not once looking back.

Desmond watches until the caracal vanishes from sight, and even a bit after. The stillness of the hallway feels right; everything is for a second, beautifully and unproblematically frozen. Until, of course, it isn't. A mosquito buzzes by, the leaves outside the windows flutter down to the unknown, the light splattered across the linoleum floor shifts ceaselessly. Time never really stopped, it merely skipped a beat.

His knock on the door is immediately met with a 'come in!' from a familiar voice. Lying supine on the only bed is Hafsa, greeting him with a toothy grin and surrounded by a veritable jungle of bouquets, stuffed animals and crinkly colorful balloons.

Desmond narrows his eyes in distaste as he approached. "Is this a hospital room or a florist?"

"Jealous?"

"Nauseous."

He can't help but smirk. The serval, despite her bedridden condition, glows with her typical vibrance. Most of her bruises have healed nicely including her eyelids, now open and eager to show off her beautiful amber eyes. Perhaps she had been bored sitting here all day, so he was a welcome distraction. Of course, he prefers the narrative that she's simply glad to see him.

"Two visitors back to back… And people I actually want to see!"

"I take it you've had to deal with some of the same visitors that saw me."

Hafsa nods, shifting in her bed. She hastens to change the subject by extending a hand. "Let me see." Her eyes point towards the ram's left arm.

He obliges, offering a good view of the impacted area. She gingerly takes it in her hands, palms steadying the back and fingers tracing the forearm like an ancient map. She runs her index fingers from the elbow joint all the way down to the wrist, following the uneven scarred paths now stripped of wool, with a lonely expression on her face. She looks up at Desmond, the loneliness warming up into a strange bittersweet smile.

"How many stitches?"

"Fifteen."

She releases his arm to grab the collar of her hospital gown with the same index finger. Yanking it down, she exposes her right clavicle. The sight nearly makes Desmond topple over. The area spanning the feline's throat to the end of her shoulder is completely disfigured. The skin marred by bite marks now stretch taught like worn twisted leather, stripped of her beautiful spots and instead blighted by winding suture markings.

"Fourty three. I win." She announces with a grin.

Any snarky comment Desmond could make remain stuck in his throat, disappearing with a dry gulp. Hafsa studies his face amusedly.

"Come on, don't give me that face." She huffs. "Is it that bad?"

"I-it's not that, it's just…" He sputters. "I'm just… I'm sorry. I'm sorry you got hurt."

"And I'm sorry I sliced your arm to ribbons and drank your blood like lemonade." She retaliates.

He lets out an amused wheeze. "Come on…"

Her expression sobers up a little, eyes now glimmering with honesty. "It may be kind of weird to say… but if it makes any difference… you really do taste amazing!"

He stares at her.

She stares back.

Both of them burst into laughter.

"That's so fucked up…!" Desmond wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. "But yeah, I'm honored."

"Honor's all mine." She giggles. "You were my first. Blood I ever tasted, that is."

"That's funny… Out of all the carnivores that have attacked me, only you've given me a scar."

The words hit Hafsa hard. A wave of guilt washes over her, and she turns away from him shamefully. "Is that like a metaphor or something…?" She lets out a lukewarm chuckle.

He sits next to her on the bed, covering her slender hand with his own. "Sure, it's a metaphor. About how out of all the carnies I've ever met in my life, good and bad, you are the only one who's left the most important mark. I'll cherish all the scars you give me."

Such dangerous words. If he keeps saying those kinds of things, if he keeps looking at her with those sharp, honest eyes, if he keeps touching her with his short-nailed hands… then…

Actually, she doesn't know. What would she do? Funny how not even a week ago, she had torn a tiger's ear off, but feels utterly helpless against a sheep.

"They… do look kind of cool on you." She murmurs, suddenly interested in the view from her window.

"Yours do too."

"As if." Her tongue sticks out in disdain. "I'll have to wear scarves for the rest of my life. There's no way I can wear my cheerleading uniform like this."

The ram tilts his head to the side. "The legendary captain of the cheerleading squad, quitting? How unlike her."

"Bodily disfigurement doesn't really match with pompoms, you know."

"You can put a fun spin on it." He extends his arms in front of him, putting up an imaginary headline. "'Serval Hafsa the saint saves fifty orphans from a burning building, survives with only a minor scar.' Next thing you know, people are drawing scars on themselves with markers."

The serval giggles loudly at the dumb joke. "You sound like your brothers." Her eyes suddenly light up, remembering something. "That's right! Even your brothers came to visit me."

A primal fear surges through Desmond's body. "Whatever stories they told you about me, they're not true."

She rolls her eyes. "Sure sure… They stopped by, crying, to thank me for saving their little brother. I really am jealous of you, having such loving siblings. Loving and loud."

"Loud and embarrassing." Desmond adds tersely. "They should've told me before seeing you. Idiots."

"They also told me… about what your mother wants."

A melancholic look from him confirms it.

"You're really leaving Noah's Arc, then."

"She already wanted me out before all this. And now, me being kidnapped on campus? No way she's letting me stay."

"That makes sense… I..." She trails off.

The air hangs grey and stifling, as if gravity itself tripled. Thousands of words pass through Hafsa's mind that could complete her sentence, but all of them seemed banal, futile. Nothing she could say seems like it could put a dent in the reality of the situation.

"I… I hope the next Vice President doesn't yell at me so much…" Is all she could muster, a lopsided smile traced on her lips.

"I hope so, too." Desmond smiles back. It's the calmest she's seen him before.

Silently, he pushes himself away from her to stand and slips his hand into his pocket. For the final time, he holds her hand, interlacing his petite fingers in hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. As his fingers loosen and slide away, all that's left in her palm is a strawberry flavored energy bar.

"I got it from the vending machine. It's not your brand, though."

Her body moves on its own. Leaning in with closed eyes, her face catches up to his and plants a kiss on his cheek. His skin burns up under her lips, crimson and soft compared to the cold, polished enamel of the fangs that brush against it. It serves as one final reminder of their biological differences between predator and prey.

One they wish could last forever.

AN: Thanks for reading. Just like that, the final chapter comes to a close. There will be an epilogue coming out shortly (maybe not tomorrow as I am rewriting it, because it sucks). A spiritual chapter 69 (nice). What a number to end on; fate works in mysterious ways.

Take it easy and stay safe.