"What did they do?" Izikel wondered aloud, eyes narrowing at the scene before him.
"Nothing," Flavius answered flatly. "They are not criminals. We're keeping them here to contain whatever is wrong with them."
One of the men in the holding cell suddenly lurched forward, doubling over with a guttural heave before vomiting violently to the side. The sight was revolting—thick, black sludge pooled on the floor, steaming faintly as it oozed between the cracks in the stone. Izikel didn't flinch. He kept watching, expression hardening. That sludge—he recognized it. It was the same substance Felvin had coughed up before his transformation.
"This thing might be contagious," Flavius said, folding his arms. His eyes narrowed as he turned toward Izikel. "Are these the same symptoms Felvin exhibited?"
Izikel nodded grimly, his jaw tightening.
