I sat on the edge of the windowsill, my head pressed against the cold glass, staring up at the few stars I could see through the thin clouds.

I played with the candy bar’s wrapper, but I never opened it. My stomach was too finicky for a chocolate bar. Too finicky for anything. Even the taste of the air made me feel slightly sick.

“Emerra?”

Conrad was standing in the doorway between the front room and the bedroom. He was wearing a set of long pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, same as me, except his fit him while my shirt was one of his cast-offs and about ten sizes too big.

A flash of embarrassment hit me. I did not want Conrad to see me like this. It wasn’t the pajamas—I couldn’t care less about the pajamas—but I was so obviously moping. I sniffed, rubbed a hand under my nose, and hurried to sit up.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m…uh…am I keeping you awake?”

He nodded to the candy bar in my hand. “You’re going to destroy that thing before you get the chance to eat it.”

I put it on the desk behind me. “I’ll be quieter.”

Conrad crossed his arms. “I never asked you to be quieter.”

I didn’t have an answer to that. I looked out the window and struggled to think of something else to say.

“I’m sorry about this afternoon. With the boys.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

I pressed my lips together. Stars faded in and out as a small cloud rolled by.

“Did you have another dream?” Conrad asked.

“Yeah.”

He cocked his head. “Was it bad?”

“It was…uh…” I licked my lips and pressed them together again. “Yeah. It was pretty bad.”

I don’t want to go back to sleep, and I’m not sure if I even can—but we’ll call that “pretty bad.” I have to save “really bad” for the dreams that cause my brain to squeeze out my ear and flee the room, screaming.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Conrad asked.

“It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

For a moment, he was still, then his muzzle dipped in a single nod. I waited for him to go back to bed, but he didn’t leave. He leaned back on the doorframe so he wouldn’t be directly facing me. After a few seconds, he said something, but his voice was low, and there was too much growl in it for me to make out what he was saying. It wasn’t an angry growl. It was the growl you’d hear when it was early in the morning or he wasn’t bothering to articulate.

He glanced at me, then lowered his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry?” I said.

He was still staring at the floor when he said, louder, “Do you want to talk about why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Wow. And I didn’t think I could feel any worse. Just goes to show.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” I said.

His ears dropped down. “Fine.”

He turned to go.

I shot to my feet. “No! Conrad, wait! I haven’t been avoiding you.”

He turned back. “Even before we got here, I only saw you at meal times. I’ve gotten more words out of you in a single morning than I’ve had in the past week. You want to tell me you haven’t been avoiding me? Fine. But you could have just told me no.”

“No what?”

“That you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“But it’s not like that!”

“Whenever I’m around, you always smell sad or upset.”

The whole universe ground to a halt and sat there, waiting for me to respond. A decade passed. A century.

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Conrad’s ears twitched backward, reminding me that, despite how I felt, motion was possible.

I opened my mouth before my mind got up to speed, so the next statement wasn’t a shining example of thoughtfulness.

“You can’t smell emotion.”

Conrad wouldn’t look at me. “Not like that. Emotions don’t have their own scent, but bodies react to emotion, and we can smell that.”

Well…crap.

“Right now you’re surprised,” he said. “And upset.”

“Stop that.”

“How?”

Once the shock passed, I felt a flutter of curiosity sneak through all my other emotions.

“You really can smell fear?”

“You’re not afraid right now. You used to be, but…not for a long time. I thought that—”

He shut his mouth so abruptly, his teeth clicked. He let out a loud sigh and went to sit on the couch.

I moved closer.

As he spoke, his ears sank.

“We’re taught not to approach humans. We’re always so much bigger than they are. We know it’s intimidating, so we’re taught, from the time we’re little, that we shouldn’t stand too close. You can smell when you’ve gotten too close—the fear keeps ratcheting up.” He mimicked turning up a dial. “We were told that when the humans got used to us, that would fade. Sometimes it did. Sometimes it didn’t.”

His shoulders were sinking too, rounding over his chest.

“Don’t try to force it.” He sounded like he was reciting something. “Let them come to you. If they come to you, they won’t be scared.”

Did that mean he never sought anyone out? What was he supposed to do if he was lonely?

Conrad stopped. When he spoke again, his voice was soft: “I’m not trying to force you, Emerra, but I honestly don’t know what I did wrong. If you’ll tell me…maybe…” He paused. “Maybe I can avoid it. In the future.”

Everything around me, even the air, felt delicate. I moved slowly so I wouldn’t break anything.

I put my arms on the back of the couch next to Conrad and leaned over them. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was worried that I was annoying you, so I tried to leave you alone.”

His ears twitched into alertness. “Why would you think you were annoying me?”

I didn’t have the energy to shrug. He wouldn’t have seen it anyway. “I annoy people. They think I’m hyper. And stupid. And fake.”

“I never thought that.” He caught himself. “I have thought you were hyper—but it didn’t annoy me.”

“And when I pat you on the head? Or play with your ears?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you’re fun to have around? You’re playful. And happy—most of the time, anyway.”

I couldn’t help wondering what Conrad’s nose made of the mush of emotions gooping up my chest.

“I wasn’t bothering you?” I asked.

“No.”

“Do you promise?”

“I already said you weren’t bothering me.” He let out another sigh. “Look, I’ll tell you if there’s ever a problem, all right?” He lifted his nose. “You’re crying. Why are you crying?”

I wiped my eyes and smiled. “Did you smell that too?”

He looked over his shoulder at me. “Yes.”

I put my hand on his head and ruffled his ears for as long as I could. Eventually, my arm got tired and I had to stop.

“Man, I missed doing that,” I said.

He looked both resigned and amused. “Feel better?”

“Yeah, I do.” I rested a couple of fingers on the short, soft hairs of his muzzle and shook my head. “That poor nose of yours.”

I moved my hand, boosted myself over the back of the couch, and crashed down beside Conrad. “I guess that’s two people I can’t lie to.”

“You shouldn’t lie to anyone.”

I tapped my chest. “Where I come from, it’s considered socially acceptable to put on a face.”

“Humans are weird.”

“At least we don’t turn down free candy.”

“Like I’m going to eat your candy. I can smell disappointment, remember?”

“It was an offering! A thank you for helping me this afternoon.”

“You give candy as an offering?”

“Only the best for you, wolf-boy. Want to break into them now?”

“It’s three in the morning, Mera. You’re going to get a sugar-high, and you won’t be able to go back to sleep.” He paused. “Or are you trying to avoid another nightmare?”

We’d had this conversation before, or something a lot like it. I had been sitting next to him, like this, but it had been on a bench. My birthday—outside the Noctis mansion, surrounded by stars.

“You smelled it back then,” I said, “didn’t you?”

He twisted his head slightly and gave me a confused look.

“Back when I was dreaming about Wayde getting shot—you could smell that I was afraid to go to sleep.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you could smell it?”

He turned his head. There was a slight frown at the edge of his black lips. “I don’t talk about it. When I’m working with Darius, it helps that people underestimate what I know.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“Humans don’t like it when you know what they’re feeling. Like you said, everyone’s putting on a face—they don’t like it when you can smell through it.”

He had a point. Knowing that he could smell my emotions made me feel kind of naked.

I thought about my latest dream and shivered.

“You okay?” Conrad asked.

“I’m feeling a little vulnerable.” I pulled my knees up to my chest. “Conrad, do you think there’s an empath in this place?”

“I don’t know. If there is, he might be hiding it.”

I wrapped my arms around my legs and put my chin on my knees.

“Mera?”

“I don’t want to go to sleep right now. I’m tired of being scared.” I closed my eyes and moaned, “Can we watch some TV or something?”

It was a useless question—more of a whine than anything else. There was no TV in our room. I couldn’t remember seeing one in the common room either. It was probably another of Wuller’s guiding principles.

“Would you like to watch some anime?” Conrad asked.

My eyes flew open, a holy light descended, I could hear the angels singing, my heart lifted in rapturous joy!

It had to be too good to be true.

“Huh?” I said.

Conrad pulled his phone from his pajama pocket. “Crunchyroll, right? I can have it downloaded in less than five minutes.”

“I thought it cost money.” I scooted closer and watched as he opened the app store.

“They usually have a free trial. If not, it’s only eight bucks.”

I helped him find the app, going so far as to reach over his arm and press on the blessed orange icon myself when he couldn’t find it fast enough.

We watched Blood Blockade Battlefront. When you’re feeling small, sad, and defenseless, nothing cheers you up like a spastic, off-the-wall, humor-based, superhero adventure.

Besides, I felt a deep kinship with Leonardo Watch.

Conrad’s phone was bigger than mine, but it was still small enough I had to lean on him so we could both read the subtitles. I didn’t mind. His arm fur was cozy.