Carly didn’t take advantage of the averted attention, she didn’t try to run away with her bum leg and gushing shoulder and forget what she’d found, or what had found her; she remained in the alleyway, watching as the strangest thing unraveled before her. Her free hand, the one not holding her bleeding wound, grabbed at the brick wall.

Questions are a nasty business. It was ironic, because she had a million—undoubtedly more than the woman on the ground did. Whatever had possessed her was far gone now, and her fingernails were very human again, though the chipped polish had been completely erased.

“Home?” she choked, stuffed with her own astonishment. It was a lot to take in, and it would’ve been easier to get a cab and head to the hospital and run from it all, but she couldn’t. The familiarity kept her grounded, interested. The use of her legal name stupefied her even more, too.

Given a moment, she opened her eyes wide and shook her head in a large gesture, waiting for any of it to wash away. When she focused on the man, though, he was still there and so was she, hurt.

“Who are you? What is this?” she asked, occasionally looking down at the unconscious woman. She did agree that it’d be best to clear out before she came to.