Joscelin squeezes Romeo’s hand, maybe a little too tight. He hates the dark these days. He can’t see anymore. Can’t tell what might be out there, ready to hurt him.

That may be the most important part of his newfound humanity: his sudden paranoia. Having killed humans for the better part of seven centuries, he’s acutely aware of how easily they die. Now he’s weak and breakable, and already ill. Why is he stuck in this godforsaken place? He should have stayed on the train.

“He dragged me along,” Joss explains in what he hopes is a casual tone of voice, though he’s rather failed at hiding how afraid he clearly is. “Where Romeo goes, I go.”