Mr. Lenser sat back in his desk chair and pretended to be busy, absentmindedly clicking on emails. He glanced at the time at the corner of his screen. Class started in eight minutes.

Students were filing in on the first day of spring semester. It was one of those January mornings when he had to wake up early to start his car and scrape all the ice off its windows.

So far, this group was quiet aside from some whispered chatter. He sensed his authoritative presence as a professor and how it oppressed the room. They didn't know him yet, whether he might be an uptight hardass, an easygoing pushover, or something in between. There were subtle nerves and uncertainties in their movements as they picked seats. Some of these students were fresh out of high school and entirely unsure what the new world of college would entail.

A boy at the doorway caught his eye. His clothes were baggy, his face hollow and gaunt. He looked like he might have a terrible illness.

But his eyes. He'd seen eyes like that before. They were animalistic, scanning like a predator searching for the weakest animal in the herd.

He shook the thought out of his head. This boy was not like his brother, who'd been possessed by an evil creature. He couldn't be.

Lenser sat forward, unconsciously tensing and sneaking glances at the boy as he took a seat in the back of the class.

The clock struck the hour. He launched into the usual first day spiel, introducing the class and handing out syllabi. He was still distracted by the boy, whose hungry eyes had settled steadily on him.

He had the class introduce themselves. Some squirmed anxiously in their seats as they waited their turn. The boy stared his thousand yard stare, looking through his classmates.

It was his turn. "Jude," he said in a strangled voice. He cleared his throat. "I'm Jude, major undecided."

***

In the following months, Lenser got to know this boy, keeping a watchful eye on him. He couldn't be a monster. He looked weak and unhealthy. He was also polite, if a bit standoffish, and participated in class more than any other student, though he rarely turned in homework.

Once a month, though, around the night of the full moon, he missed a few classes. It was just a coincidence. Lenser needed to believe this. The kid would return with an even darker glint to his eyes. He'd be shifty and on edge.

Everything changed that day he spotted Jude leaving the bathroom, then went in and found a brick of white powder. He'd invited the boy to his office for the first time, and it was harrowing to see him up close, on full display. Then Jude had dug splinters out of a hardwood chair with his fingernails, igniting that horrific suspicion again.

It wasn't really a suspicion anymore, was it? Jude was not human, not completely—and he was on hard drugs.

What could Lenser possibly do about it? How could he help?

He called his brother for the first time in months and asked, "How are you holding up?" It was a stupid question, but he didn't know how else to start.

The voice on the other end was painful and raspy. His tone was dead, a shell of the expressive young man Lenser remembered as his brother. "I'm living in Yukon Territory, in Canada. Not many people, you know. It's the only way." He hadn't really answered the question.

Lenser got right to the point. "I have a student I think is like you."

He heard heavy breathing. "Has he hurt anyone?"

"I don't know. Probably. The kid's a wreck. I think...I think he might be medicating. Knocking himself out with painkillers to control himself."

There was silence. "There's no way that works."

"I haven't heard of any animal attacks in the area, not for years. No brutal deaths of hikers in the woods."

He could practically hear his brother wince at the unearthed memories. "Well, trust me, there's no way it's sustainable. You develop a tolerance, you can't afford enough supply, you get busted—"

"Right. It won't work forever." He sighed heavily, feeling a weight pressing down on him. "What can I possibly do to help?"

"I don't know. I don't know. Tell him to move to somewhere desolate? It's not like I have it figured out."

"I know. You're doing your best, John. It's okay."

"It will never be okay again." He lets out a breathy laugh. "Do everything you can for the kid. I don't know what, just try."

"Okay. Hey, I love you, man—"

He knew he never said that enough, but his brother had already hung up. Lenser sat back in his office chair and released a big sigh, feeling deflated.