Who Is It?

Havermouth, Present Time

Sweat darkened August’s armpits and slicked his hair to his scalp. A drip hung from the tip of his nose, shaking with the inhale and exhale of his breath. The room stank, stale urine and sweat overwhelming any lingering residue of Aislen’s mates and her time in the room, and mingling with the dust and ancient smoke that had permeated the wood.

Aislen rolled her head on her shoulders, stretching out muscles that were stiff and aching. After her initial revulsion, she had dug deeper into August’s brain. Tyler had excused himself, but Toby had remained and still leaned up against the corner, watching with an unreadable expression on his face.

Aaron had joined them with a notepad and pen and had sat in the corner to take notes. Something which Aislen found useful as some of what she was getting from August made no sense to her, but she didn’t know whether it might be meaningful to someone from the pack, or someone with more military experience.

“Well?” Aaron asked