Still walking her bike beside her, her teeth grinding together with each step, Izzy forced herself to focus on the road before her. She did not get far before her world began to spin, and her legs threatened to give out. With a pained moan, she gave in and fell to her knees, her bike clattering to the ground beside her.
	With the palm of her remaining hand on the concrete, she glanced to her shoulder, and tried to swallow down a wave of nausea. Despite her attempt at slowing the bleeding, red soaked her thin scarf and dripped from it in a slow, uneven pace before, within seconds of splattering against the road, turning to vapor. At least leaving a suspicious trail of blood would not be a concern. 
	She glanced down the darkened street, and swallowed hard at the list of concerns she [i]did[/i] have. Trevor was still in trouble. The White Wolf was running about town, doing who knew what. The park--and Riley, as far as she knew--was still a good distance away. She had no method of contacting anyone who could help in her present condition. And she was fading fast, a dark film threatening the edges of her vision.
	Something between anger and fear rose in her chest. Anger at the Wolf, and at herself for not being capable of doing more to stop the aberration. Fear for what would become of Trevor, and for her life. But at least, she supposed, she would not have to worry about explaining how she lost her arm. That was one conversation she found herself oddly glad to avoid in the moment.
	Her teeth ever clenched and hand balled into a fist, what little of her strength remained gave out, and her arm buckled from her weight. Before her head met the ground, her world went black.

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/B63EN2r.png?1[/img][/center]
	Consciousness returned to Izzy sluggishly, like a frightened animal. Izzy groaned and stirred, the gentle glow of daylight just managing to penetrate her eyelids. Her body felt heavy, and the night before felt like one big blur of indistinguishable nightmare instead of a clear reality.
	The hard surface of what felt like desks beneath her back made her furrow her brows, still not quite willing to open her eyes. Though she did not remember laying down, she thought she must have fallen asleep at the school. It was, after all, pretty late when she had arrived.
	Finally, she opened her eyes, and stared up at the all too familiar ceiling. A light too deep a gold for it to be morning morning shone bravely through any cracks it could, though even its glittering courage only managed to deepen the spooky atmosphere of the abandoned classroom in its sorry state of neglect.
	With a heavy breath, she ran her right hand through her hair, wondering how long she had been asleep for, then moved both arms to prop herself up on the bed of desks.
	A fiery pain shot through her left arm, making her cry out. She fell back against the desks, breathing through her teeth as the memory of the night before came rushing back. She tenderly reached over to her wounded arm, waiting for the pain to dim into a dull ache, and tenderly fingered the bandages that apparently kept it in place. Only then did she realize why she had felt the texture of the desks better than normal, but the current condition of her arm took precedence over her shirtless state. 
	Realizing that she had, in fact, moved her arm, she slowly bent her elbow to raise her hand for better viewing, and wiggled her fingers. She gave a relieved sigh and leaned her head back against the desks as the emotion flooded through her; her arm was back where it belonged, and functional.
	The gentle sound of a breath made Izzy turn her head to where the child sat against her. During the night’s events, she had all but forgotten about him. A pit formed in her stomach at the expression he gave her, adding a silent insult to injury. It was amazing how belittling and condescending a simple look could be, especially on the face of a child.
	Izzy swallowed, and returned his look with a scowl. “Don’t look at me like that!” she snapped, carefully reaching back with her good arm to prop herself up slightly. “I’d like to see [i]you[/i] take on that monster in your current state!”
	She pulled herself into a sitting position, and glared down at the child for a moment, his expression changing either in a short moment she looked away, or with her angle. She sighed, and her expression softened slightly. She bent forward and placed her forehead in her palm. Her fingers tangled in her hair, her hair tie long since lost somewhere between street and school. She still had not fed Cerasus, she had one arm out of commission, and the White Wolf was still gallivanting about in Trevor’s body, as far as she knew, but the child seemed to [i]want[/i] to live, now. At least she had that bit of good. 
	Izzy’s attention snapped to the doorway at the sound of Riley’s voice.
	“Riley!” she breathed when he stopped speaking. She tried to get to her feet a bit too quickly. Her legs still a tad shaky, and she slapped her right palm against one of the desks to steady herself. “Trevor... the White Wolf... It--it’s possessing him or something! I tried to delay him--[i]it[/i], but...” She bent her head and looked to her arm, once more placing a gentle, tentative hand on the bandages wrapping the side of her arm, and licked her lips. “It didn’t exactly work,” she finished quietly. She looked back to Riley. “We [i]have[/i] to find Trevor before the Wolf hurts anyone else!”
	She took a step toward the door and Riley, but then glanced down at herself. She cleared her throat awkwardly and shifted her weight when she fully realized she was standing in a room with two men, lacking a shirt. “I, uh, don’t suppose you have a spare shirt I could use, do you?”