Evander threw his phone onto the ground, grabbing his head and curling into a fetal position in the garden. His body was on fire—all he could see was a sick kaleidoscope of blue, red, and orange. Unnoticed by him, the sky turned dark, too early even for the Fall. Storm clouds brewed in the distance, and electricity trickled in the air. Helios hissed and scurried off.

He had to get in touch with Art - he could practically feel the danger around him, like a heavy weight crushing him from all sides.

Moving through the pain, Evander grabbed his phone again.

E: Something bad is happening, Arête. You need to leave wherever you are and call me back RIGHT NOW. YOU ARE IN DANGER.

Groaning, he fell back into the cool grass, holding his phone above his head, searching for the quickest, soonest flight to Texas.

--

Art briefly noticed the bartender side-eyeing him, but it didn’t stop him from continuing his journey from the back of the bar. The glowing woman was the only thing in his field of vision, the only thing he cared about. His phone kept buzzing, but Art hardly noticed.

Before he could reach his destination, Art felt a heavy, hot hand on his shoulder. Spinning around, black hair flailing into his eyes, he shook off the burning hand and met orange eyes.

Art let out a small, startled noise, that vaguely resembled the question, “What?!”

The man offered no immediate reply. He was dripping with sweat. Art watched it trickle slowly from his brow, down his sharp jaw, to the base of his throat. He could feel the heat radiating off of him, and instantly switched gears to concerned.

“Are you okay? Do you need help?”

“Stay the fuck away from her.” The man growled.

Art raised one sharp eyebrow, feeling his throat close up due to the overwhelming heat.

“Wh...what?!” He croaked again.

“I said STAY AWAY FROM HER!” Art felt the man flex and raise his fist before he saw it. Just as he was about to duck, the bartender appeared behind the guy, grabbing his arm. Art felt his muscles burn and heard a howl in the distance. He also noticed for the first time that the man’s fists were glowing a bright orange-red.

“Woah! Milos, come on man, calm down, let’s not do this.”

“GET OFF ME!” Milos shouted, breaking from the bartenders grip, easily out-muscling him. He spun back around, surely to take a swing at Art, but stopped dead in his tracks, looking down.

“Milos, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

The woman from the bar. She was standing next to Art, a bright blue whisper still surrounding her, more solid now. She spoke so softly, like she was trying to tame a beast. Her eyes were large and unblinking, and she gripped her bag strap on her shoulder with both hands with white knuckles. Art saw a spark in her gaze that made him think this was not the first time something like this had happened.

Art adjusted his stance to be slightly in front of her, anticipating the worst. His body rippled with an ache to fight. The hound continued its call from the back of his mind.