A deep blue twilight had settled in by the time Hawk reached the balcony; the sky still had the faintest of orange glows, clear but for a couple wisps of clouds, turning the distant ground below into a featureless dark plain. Light from the last of the sun and from the balcony door scattered over the railings and eaves and the vines framing it all, just enough to see.

Hawk landed but didn't go in. Instead he stripped off his jacket, draped it over the railing, and looked at his right arm.

His hand had been replaced by a massive taloned paw; his arm was striped black over a yellow that seemed to glow very softly in the dim. A thick ruff of dark grey feathers started at his elbow and ran up to his neck, bursting from under the sleeve of his shirt. More feathers prickled on his cheek and along his jaw.

He was silent, though sweat beaded down his face, and the wicked talons shook. He shut one eye and set his mouth.

So what happens next?