The Trials were over.

It sounded like another lie, yet everything that had transpired since Chancellor Page spoke those fateful four words indicated there was truth behind the statement. The subjects that had survived were cleaned up, briefed on the importance of what they'd endured, and offered free transport to wherever their few remaining family members might reside.

Which is how Minho found himself on a train to some small, unimportant town dubbed Beacon Hills with Thomas tucked up against his side. The boy had dozed off against the teen's shoulder and now jostled slightly with each bump and shake of the train cart, leaving Minho to try to brace himself against the movement to minimise the chance of one such disturbance rousing his friend.

How Thomas could sleep, Minho had no idea. Unrelenting unease clawed at the Keeper's insides and kept his dark orbs stapled wide in wakefulness. Sleep was as far off of a possibility as him suddenly becoming a unicorn and flying away on a shucking rainbow.

Well, Minho wished that ridiculous image seemed impossible anyway, but considering that razor sharp fangs had sprouted from his jaws and his eyes had flashed an unnatural shade of luminescent blue whenever someone threatened the snoozing boy leaned against him or had sparked his anger some other way, he honestly wouldn't be surprised at anything anymore.

The scientists at Wicked had tried numerous times to explain to Minho how he was a werewolf - which, newsflash, apparently existed - and how they needed to understand how his immunity to the Flare virus compared to that of a human's but the boy still never really understood. All he knew was that sometimes his nails would decide to sharpen into knife like claws and he felt the constant, unignorable urge to bury his nose in Thomas's neck and sniff him for shucks sake.

It wasn't his fault the smaller boy's scent was intoxicatingly addictive. How could he be blamed for wanting to shove his face against Thomas's skin and inhale him when the kid smelled like sex on a shuck stick? All warm, and sweet, and delicious with the slightest hint of a lemon tang... If sunshine had a scent, it would definitely be Thomas. So, if Minho leaned over and snuggled his nose into his friend's hair occasionally, breathing in that amazing smell in long, deep inhales, then he really wasn't to blame.

The train abruptly came to a screeching, tire squealing, halt during once such instance, leaving Minho to scramble back from the younger teen rather quickly or risk getting caught in the act of his guilty pleasure. However, suddenly removing the other boy's living pillow resulted in him falling sideways for a few dazed seconds before snorting hastily into wakefulness.

"Are we there already?" Thomas questioned lazily, blinking hazel eyes slowly at Minho as if nothing was out of the ordinary and leaving the boy damn glad his friend wasn't supernatural, because he was pretty sure every werewolf in a hundred mile radius of their little train cart could hear his heart pounding at the moment.

"Don't think so. It's seems a little early if you ask me." Minho replied carefully, refraining from allowing the sneaking fear he truly felt closing in on him from coming through in his voice. Another trial. His mind declared immediately but he bit his lip and remained silent, unwilling to voice the nagging fear. There was no reason to push his paranoid concern onto his friend - Though, the wide eyed, apprehensive look playing across Thomas's face implied the kid had already come to the same, horrific conclusion.

The acidic scent of Thomas's fear tainted his usually welcoming smell as the haze of sleep lifted from the younger teen and he rose to his feet to cast his gaze suspiciously about their surroundings. It made Minho's wolf want to growl and hunt down whatever had caused the change in his mate - friend, he corrected - friend's scent.

Protect. Something primitive in Minho's mind demanded forcefully as he unconsciously edged closer to his companion, hovering around his friend in case he suddenly needed to yank the boy away from danger. It was taking every ounce of self control to keep his eyes from flashing as the last groan of the train stilling could be heard echoing through the empty passenger carts.

Somehow, Minho managed to keep his pointed pair of canines a secret throughout the entirety of the trials and he wasn't about to reveal them now in a brief moment of panic. What if his best friend was freaked out by his abnormality - Minho sure was when he first caught a glimpse of fanged, furred, and fierce in a mirror. Or worse, what if Thomas was scared of him?

Minho's musings were cut off by the sound of something slamming into their cart, sending the whole thing leaning precariously to the side with a dangerous groan before it slammed back onto the tracks.

Glancing anxiously out the window to try and get a look at whatever had hit them, the werewolf caught a momentary glimpse of what looked like a smokey wisp of darkness ghost by the glass before they were hit again, harder this time. He also saw they were on a narrow bridge overlooking an impossibly deep gorge with a rushing river winding through the bottom of it, barely visible from this high up. Shuck.

A scent, almost familiar, but not quite, flooded Minho's nostrils as a startled yelp sprang to his lips and the black wispy mystery threw itself against the train once more, pushing them dangerously close to the tipping point. The boy didn't have time to consider the oddity however, as he was thrown by the impact, feet skidding uselessly against the slick floor of the cart as his body fell against the far wall. Unsurprisingly, moments later, every ounce of air was slammed from the wolf's lungs as Thomas fell into him, flailing limbs almost clipping Minho in the face as the boy collapsed into him with a startled grunt.

"Get back!" A scratchy but fierce voice demanded angrily as the door connecting the boys' compartment to the other train carts was suddenly thrown open. A short, elderly woman with curly, graying hair pinned back in a loose bun sprang into sight, her light up cat sweater blinking sporadically as she came to an unsteady halt in front of the pair.

For a moment, irritation flared up in Minho as he thought the newcomer was yelling at them but, just as he was about to tell Grandma Crazy off, the woman thrust open a window on the far side of the cart and leaned out.

"What are you doing?" Thomas yelped incredulously from Minho's side before stumbling forward to pull the insane chick back in, honey eyes wide with confusion and concern as he rushed across the room.

"Don't you fret now, hun. Betsie knows what she's doing. This isn't my first trip to Beacon Hills!" Grandma Deathwish declared fiercely as she pulled an old looking burlap sack from her tiny pink purse, the weathered cloth of the thing fraying slightly at the edges and spilling a fine black dust from a few sparse holes throughout.

The way the woman, Betsie, apparently, growled out the town's name as if it were a disease she wanted to stomp out put Minho on edge. He really just wanted him and Thomas to be safe and, with all that had just transpired within the last two minutes, he was really starting to doubt Beacon Hills was going to offer the serenity he so craved for him and his mate - Friend. For shucks sake, his friend. Why couldn't his stupid wolf get that through its head?

"Come get some, ya sneaky varmint!" Betsie howled before bursting into a maniacal cackle as the gray smoke Minho had finally convinced himself he'd been imagining wooshed toward the open window. However, as the werewolf finally got a good look at the creature, he found that it was not just a misty apparition, but rather had a tangible form that the gray cloud of dark matter he'd seen earlier merely trailed. The creature was still moving too fast for the boy to really see any of its features but he was able to assess that the thing definitely had a human shape before Betsie grasped a handful of the black dust from her bag and threw it at the beast.

"Oh, don't worry, Tom, we've been saved!" Minho balked incredulously. "She's thrown dust on it! Now we won't have to worry about it being too clean when it dismembers us!" The teen cried fearfully, throwing his hands up in exasperation as Senile Sue turned to glare pointedly at him, even having the audacity to shake a scolding finger at him with a disapproving scowl written across her wrinkled face.

"Dust! Why, I oughta let it turn you to dust!" Betsie snarled indignantly. "This here is mountain ash, boyo!" Their cat sweater wearing savior hissed, as if that were supposed to comfort Minho in the least.

"Look!" Thomas quipped anxiously before Minho had a chance to bite back a smart response and the boy turned to see his friend pointing at the window with a single shaking finger, his hazel eyes as curious as they were horrified. The Keeper shifted his gaze to where his friend indicated and his eyes fell on the unknown creature that was now reeling back and squirming uncomfortably as it staggered away from the train.

A high pitched cry rang through the air, the sound reminiscent of someone drawing nails down a chalkboard only amplified ten times over. The monster writhed as Betsie threw another handful of her magic dust in its direction before it hissed angrily and vanished into thin air as if it had never been there.

"What..." Thomas mumbled blankly from Minho's side, fear and defeat evident in his tone . "What was that?" The boy finally managed, sounding more disappointed than anything else and Minho knew why. They were never going to be safe.

"Damn foxes." Betsie merely muttered in reply, obviously not really talking to Thomas as she shoved her burlap sack back into her hot pink bag and began shuffling back toward the way she had came.

"Hey!" Minho snapped irritably as the old woman continued to ignore them and began making her way through the door she had entered minutes ago as the train hummed back to life and began groaning into motion once more. "I've seen foxes, and that, my friend, was no shucking fox! Unless you've got some weird fox steroids circulating your streets!" The teen growled demandingly but Betsie merely turned on a heel to glare fiercely at him, looking far more threatening than a woman her age should.

"Respect your elders, young man!" The odd lady commanded with a huff before beginning to turn around once more.

"Wait!" Thomas tried this time, his voice far more carefully controlled than Minho's. "We just..." The boy began but trailed off. "We've never seen anything like that before and... and mountain ash? We just want to know what the hell happened." The brunette implored, carefully adding a note of pleading to his voice in an attempt to appeal to the stubborn woman - It kinda made Minho want to slam him into a wall and drag his teeth along the pale, sensitive skin of the boy's neck until he elicited that pleading tone from the teen. Shucking weird ass wolf.

"Sonny," Betsie began, her voice and expression softening as she turned her gaze to Thomas. "Ain't nothing I can tell you that's gonna make this any easier." She informed the boy sympathetically and Thomas frowned, the tangy scent of his anxiety flooding Minho's nostrils and making him have to refrain from growling.

"But, I'll write down the address of where I'll be staying, okay? If you need help, you can always come ask me." Betsie offered quickly and Minho almost wondered if she could smell the tormenting aroma of Thomas's unease as well, but he quickly pushed the ridiculous thought away as quickly as it had came.

"That would be great, thanks!" Thomas replied gratefully and Minho could immediately sense his friend's relief, the calming feel of it relaxing the wolf slightly as Betsie scrawled something on a bright pink post-it note. The woman must really love her pink.
"I have a feeling you're gonna need it." The old woman spoke with a knowing smile as she handed the slip of fluorescent paper to Thomas but her eyes were locked past him, on Minho. How could she know? You're being paranoid. The boy told himself stubbornly but then he saw Betsie's humor filled old eyes flick to his seat before she turned and left them and when he glanced down to see what had caught her attention he found he'd left long, jagged claw marks in the velvet cloth.