The cafeteria buzzed with its usual blend of chatter, clinking cutlery, and the faint hum of the vending machine. Familiar faces dotted the room, but Nze's eyes kept darting to the empty table near the zobo counter – the one Bee and her entourage had claimed yesterday. Today, it was just an empty, lifeless gap, as though their absence had sucked the air out of the space.

The empty space where they should have been made his heart do this weird little stutter-step, the kind of feeling you get when you reach for your phone and find your pocket empty. It wasn't exactly worry – or maybe it was. Because how exactly are you supposed to feel when someone you just met, might or might not have turned into a leopard the night before?

"Earth to Nze?" Pico's voice cut through his thoughts. "Did you even look at Okocha's assignment?"

"Oh, uh..." Nze blinked, shaking off his mental fog.

"You okay?" Iza asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. "You've been off all day."

"Fine," Nze muttered, his tone unconvincing even to himself. "Just... distracted."

Then, trying for casual and probably missing by a mile, he added, "Hey, Pico, random question – you know anything about what happened here in St. Leo back in October 1999?"

Pico's face scrunched up like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult math problem. "October '99? Nah, man. Why? You doing some kind of historical research or something?"

"No reason," Nze replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Just... heard something about it." Heard something about it from a girl who could apparently turn into a leopard, but he decided to keep that particular detail to himself.

"Speaking of new things," he pivoted, grabbing onto the change of subject like a lifeline, "I got a new roommate today. Seun. Seems like a decent guy. Very... organized."

"Oh thank god," Iza said, stabbing at her rice and stew. "Maybe he'll inspire you to actually use your laundry basket instead of treating your floor like one giant clothes basket."

"Umm..."

"For god's sake, Nze, it's been only four days and your room is a pigsty."

But even as they fell into the familiar rhythm of friendly banter, Nze couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. The cafeteria felt different somehow, as if he was seeing it through new eyes.

Every shadow seemed deeper, every corner potentially concealing secrets. He found himself wondering about the other students around them – how many of them might be hiding something extraordinary beneath their perfectly ordinary college student exteriors?

The scratch on his ankle flared up again, a sharp, insistent itch that forced him to glance down. It was as if his body itself was rejecting the idea that last night had been a hallucination. That red line etched across his skin felt like proof – a keepsake from a night he couldn't explain.

And somewhere out there, Bee and her group were... doing what? Recovering from their own war-torn night? Planning their next move? Shopping for flea collars?

The thought almost made him smile, but it died somewhere between his brain and his lips as another question surfaced: what exactly had he gotten himself involved in? And more importantly, was there any way to get uninvolved, or had that ship already sailed the moment he saw Bee transform?

Because that's the thing about life-changing revelations – they don't come with an undo button. They just leave you sitting in a college cafeteria, pretending to care about problem sets while secretly wondering if everyone around you might be capable of turning into large predatory cats.

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You know how in horror movies, there's always that moment where someone suggests doing something obviously dangerous, and everyone in the audience collectively groans because they know it's a terrible idea? Well, Nze was having one of those moments, except he was both the character making the bad decision and the audience groaning about it.

The thought crept into his mind like a cat burglar – appropriately enough, given recent events. Maybe, just maybe he could find Oakwood again. The thought had a pull to it, equal parts desperation and defiance. Last night, he'd stumbled through the forest in terror, but daylight had a way of softening the edges of fear. Except, he reminded himself, the forest didn't care about daylight. It had secrets to keep, and secrets didn't operate on a nine-to-five schedule.

His uncle's words echoed in his head like a particularly persistent conscience: never go into the forest alone unless you have twelve hunters with you. The kind of advice that seemed excessive until you actually needed it.

But then again, his uncle may have probably been thinking about regular forest dangers – wild animals, getting lost, the usual stuff. He probably hadn't factored in the possibility of stumbling into supernatural territory disputes between were-leopards and were-jaguars.

Besides, Nze reasoned with the kind of logic that only makes sense when you're trying to convince yourself to do something stupid, he'd already been there during peak danger hours. He'd witnessed what was probably the forest's greatest hits of terrifying scenarios, and he'd made it out alive. Doing it again during daylight hours was practically like taking a nature walk. A nature walk through territory that might or might not be populated by shape-shifting big cats, but still.

Back in his dorm room, Nze started patting down his pockets with increasing desperation, like a person trying to find their keys while pretending they haven't locked themselves out. The map. Where was Bee's map? He distinctly remembered her giving it to him – the paper had felt real in his hands, hadn't it? Or had that been part of the dream too?

But no, the scratch on his ankle was definitely real. The memory of Arthur transforming was too vivid, too detailed to be a dream. The way Nyamekye's scars had caught the moonlight, the sound of jaguar roars echoing through the trees – those details were etched into his memory with the kind of clarity that nightmares rarely achieved.

So where was the map?

He turned his pockets inside out, searched under his bed, and even checked the pockets of every piece of clothing he'd worn in the last week. Nothing. The map had vanished as completely as Bee and her shape-shifting companions had from the cafeteria.

And that's the thing about crossing the line between the ordinary and extraordinary – the evidence has a frustrating tendency to disappear, leaving you with nothing but memories and doubts. Was this the universe's way of telling him to stay away? Or was it just another piece of the puzzle, another breadcrumb on this increasingly bizarre trail he found himself following?

Seun's side of the room stared back at him in its newly organized glory, making Nze's chaotic search feel even more conspicuous. His new roommate had arranged his belongings with the kind of precision that suggested he would definitely notice if Nze started acting weird. Well, weirder than the morning's introduction had already suggested.

Standing in the middle of his room, surrounded by the aftermath of his search, Nze faced the kind of decision point that would probably feature prominently in whatever cautionary tale his life was becoming: should he really try to find Oakwood again? Without a map? Without Bee? Without even the excuse of it being an accident this time?

His phone sat on his desk, silent. No messages from Bee. No mysterious invitations. That's right. She never even gave him her number. Just the ordinary notifications of ordinary university life, as if last night had never happened.

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Sometimes we lie to ourselves so smoothly it's almost impressive. Like how Nze was absolutely, positively NOT looking for Bee. He told himself he was looking for Oakwood. That was the goal, wasn't it?

Answers.

But every step deeper into the forest betrayed him, bringing back images of platinum curls glinting in the moonlight and a smile sharp enough to cut through his growing unease. Bee wasn't his reason – not officially. But she was the ghost haunting every thought. The girl whose scent lingered in his memory like a favorite song stuck on repeat.

But no, definitely not looking for her. Because that would be ridiculous. And dangerous. And possibly a sign that he needed to seriously reconsider his taste in women to include the category "doesn't transform into large predatory cats."

Yet here he was, standing at the forest's edge like a character in a fairy tale who clearly hadn't read enough fairy tales to know better. The first step felt like crossing a threshold, like accepting an invitation to a party where the dress code might suddenly change to "apex predator."

The second step was easier, because isn't that always the way? It's the first step that asks permission; the rest just assume consent.

Deeper and deeper he went, watching as the sunlight began playing hide and seek between the branches, eventually deciding that hiding was more fun and abandoning the game altogether. The fog started creeping in, like nature's special effects department was working overtime to create the perfect horror movie ambiance.

There were sounds – the kind of sounds that in any other circumstance would have sent him running back to his dorm room to hide under his blankets until graduation. Twigs snapping under feet (paws?) that weren't his. Rustling that seemed too deliberate to be just wind. And that feeling – that distinct, hair-raising sensation of being watched that makes you wonder if prey animals spend their entire lives feeling this paranoid.

But the worst part wasn't the sounds or the fog or even the darkness. The worst part was how familiar it all felt. Like déjà vu, except instead of a vague feeling of having been here before, it was a very specific memory of running for his life while various large cats decided to turn the forest into their personal WWE ring.

Standing there, surrounded by the kind of silence that feels less like peace and more like a held breath, Nze finally admitted defeat. Maybe it had all been a dream after all. A very vivid, very detailed dream that just happened to leave physical scratches and an inexplicable craving for cat videos.

He turned to leave, trying to ignore the way his heart sank like a stone in a well. Not because he missed Bee, obviously. Just because... well... okay, maybe a little because he missed Bee.

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