text: "My best guess is sudden cardiac arrest." Mutya straightened from examining Nielsen's body, prone on one of the massage tables. "Of course, my patients are usually alive, so I'm not willing to testify to that."
  
  Cooper stood across from her, observing her examination. It was just the two of them in the room. Most of the guests were gathering in the lobby—gossiping, no doubt—while the staff fetched the stragglers and Paul broke the news of Nielsen's death to Vanessa.
  
  Park—temporarily covered in a fluffy white robe Joyce had grabbed for him from the dressing room—had accompanied Lisa back to her cabin to collect the stolen weapon and retrieve some non-shredded clothes from his own suitcase. Jimmy, still in fur, had trotted beside them, head down and tail between his legs. Cooper had been nervous about the idea of them walking together, but Park insisted it was a nonissue.
  
  "We fought, I won, it's over," he'd said.
  
  "Rationally, maybe. But Jimmy didn't exactly strike me as a peacekeeper."
  
  "He has a hard time controlling his shift. But trust me, he's defeated. He's not in the headspace to instigate anything. Especially not with me. It's more important that you and Mutya figure out what happened to Nielsen."
  
  And so Cooper held a flashlight in the dim natural light from the window—generators fully off now—while Mutya examined the body. He hadn't even had to reveal that he and Park were Trust agents to get her to help. He'd just asked and she'd agreed. Cooper wanted to believe it was because she, too, was determined to figure out what was going on and not that she was terrified of the Shepherd, but who knew? From what he could tell, none of the guests were daring to question Park's—and by association, Cooper's—decisions. Apparently giving his protection to the retreat had made Park a sort of impromptu, temporary sheriff, allowed to run a criminal investigation even without a badge.
  
  "What about the head wound?" Cooper asked.
  
  "Too shallow and not enough blood. Normally a head wound would bleed a lot. I'd say his heart had stopped before he even hit the stone."
  
  "So he had a heart attack?"
  
  "Sudden cardiac arrest," Mutya repeated. "Slight difference. Heart attack, there's a blockage. Here I'd say he experienced some arrhythmia, which led to lack of oxygen, which led to dizziness, and bam. But this is ninety percent guesswork. I can't say for sure without opening him up." She looked at him sharply. "And I'm absolutely not doing that."
  
  "No, no," Cooper agreed. "Are you saying it was natural causes then?"
  
  "If he had some underlying condition, maybe, but I doubt it. Not with this." She pulled Nielsen's shirt aside and pointed with a gloved hand. Cooper stepped closer. There was a small, slightly bloody dot over his heart. "I'd say someone injected him with something. And not at all neatly or in a place you would try to inject them if you were actually trying to help."
  
  "Could they have used an autoinjector?"
  
  "Sure, why not? That'd be easier, especially if it happened during a struggle. But again, I'm not a medical examiner. There is one other thing I think you should see, though." She held up Nielsen's pointer finger and pulled down the pad to reveal just below the nail. "Scar tissue. Old, and not related to COD, but weird, right?"
  
  "Some kind of torture?"
  
  "It certainly would have felt tortuous. They're on all his fingers, left and right. Except his thumbs." She gave him a significant look.
  
  "What?" Cooper asked. "What does that mean?"
  
  Mutya smiled faintly. The first genuine friendliness she'd shown since agreeing to help. "We don't have thumbs. Not in fur, I mean. So no thumb claws in skin, either."
  
  "So... Nielsen really was a wolf?" Cooper asked, shocked.
  
  "Definitely not," Mutya said. "Besides, a true wolf wouldn't have scars. Ours are our nails, not some kind of morally ambiguous science experiment shooting out of our skin."
  
  "What are you saying," Cooper said, feeling a little ill. "That he tried to...make his own?"
  
  "Maybe. Though that's a tricky thing to do to yourself. These are all exactly uniform and perfectly healed. Surgical. Done by someone with experience stitching. Even if it clearly didn't work."
  
  "God," Cooper whispered, his hand over his mouth. "But why?"
  
  Mutya shrugged and began to respond when she was interrupted.
  
  "Oh," a woman's voice said from across the room, and they both turned quickly to catch Reggie standing in the doorway, staring at Nielsen. Her eyes were red but dry and her voice shook as she spoke. "I—Sorry to interrupt, but I was—I'm looking for the Shepherd. Please."
  
  Cooper glanced at Mutya, whose expression had turned professionally blank once more. "He's not back yet. What do you need him for?"
  
  She gathered herself together and stood a little straighter, lifting her chin. "I'd like to make a confession. I did it. I killed those men. I killed them all."