The dungeon was a garden of bones. They lay on the damp stone floors. Skulls and ribs and femurs of the people who’d refused to give up their werechildren. Hans touched some and found them roughened by the sharp teeth of rats. He didn’t blame them. They’d done what they needed to survive.

He’d done the same to keep Greta alive. He’d done everything Albrecht ordered, withstood every torture, stayed alive himself to protect her. Now that she’d left the castle, he could stop living if he wanted to. He was so tired. So broken.

And she was free. Albrecht had told him as much after he’d pulled Hans from his cage, pummeling him.

Why did she leave?

Did you know she was planning this?

Do you know what I’ll do when I get her?

Hans had used Cappella’s cloak to shield himself. He’d held on to it as Albrecht dragged him to the dungeon. He wrapped himself tighter in it now, just as he had the first day he came to the castle. It didn’t feel quite real that Greta had left without him. She might have thought he was safer working for Prince Albrecht. Or worse, that he’d come around to Albrecht’s side. That he liked it. He felt sick as he realized what it must have looked like to see him standing quietly behind the prince, never saying a word.

He should have said something. Sent word somehow, just to let her know he was still Hans. Still her brother. That he still remembered their promise to take care of each other.

He leaned against the stone wall, the cloak around his shoulders. Time passed, minutes, and then hours. He listened to the muted forest song and thought of what it had been like to live there, breathing music, growing up beside Cappella. He wondered whether he and Cappella would have been friends had she known he was more than a wolf. Whether she could have come to his house and shared soup and bread and conversation by a crackling fire.

Then it struck him that Albrecht hadn’t said “when I find her.” He’d said “when I get her.” That meant Albrecht knew where Greta had gone. She’d gone home; it’s what he would have done. That meant she wasn’t safe, after all.

Hans cursed and threw himself against the wooden door. He felt for the keyhole, but his finger was too big. He groped around on the floor and found a bone. It broke off as soon as he wiggled it in the lock.

Enraged and desperate, he removed his clothing and welcomed the wolf. Immediately certain senses bloomed. Smell. Hearing. He began gnawing at the door. He gnawed until his gums bled, taking breaks only to pull the splinters from his lips.

There were more rats around him than he’d realized. It was easy for them to slip through the space beneath the door, and for the first time, he wished that he had a rat aspect instead of a wolf one.

He’d always been proud to be a wolf. Big and strong, with mighty claws and teeth. But it was his very size that was keeping him captive now. So much for brute strength. There was always something in the world more brutal.

He could tell the rats in his cell were curious about what he was doing. So he told them while he took breaks. It made him feel good to have someone to talk to. He liked the way it felt when their noses prodded his fur. He nosed them back.

He told them everything. About his parents. About his sister. About Cappella, and how he’d wished he’d been his human self with her, even if it was only once. He’d told her he loved her in his wolfish way, bumping his head into her forehead, leaning against her. But to say it as a human would have been something else. He’d never had the courage; he’d forever have regret.

And as he thought of regrets, he apologized to the rats for what he’d done to them. What he’d failed to protect them from. Never again would he consent to do that which he knew was wrong.

Hours after he began, he still wasn’t through. He wanted to close his eyes and wish for death. But where would that leave Greta? As soon as he could, he resumed his labors. When the moon was at its highest point in the sky, when he could feel its pull on him the most powerfully, he finally broke through. His paws and mouth dripped blood. He craved food. Water. Rest. But Greta was in danger.

He snatched the cloak with his bleeding mouth and fled.