Rhys seemed puzzled for a moment, then looked down at his hand. A grim line set. “I know how to deal with it,” he said simply. He twisted his fingers, bringing up a needle with swirling blackness in it. Rhys stared at it momentarily, then murmured, “Mowgli described the monster a few times. Truly, I was surprised. Viruses don’t act like that, personifying a host. I was sure it was  a child’s delusion until you mentioned it as well.” He paused, staring at the swirl for a while. “I wanted to see what the host would be like within your body,” he said. “Mowgli was growing more and more useless, and him being alive affects my political career. You would think he wouldn’t listen to me anymore, but fear and trauma have eaten that child into something I wouldn’t consider my kin.”

“Of course,” he muttered, “You ran away before I could get your blood, and you got rid of it. Luckily, I have plenty of Mowgli’s blood from before.” Rhys’s teeth gritted firmly. “I need the host’s blood to create the preventative or this spreads on me,” he gestured at himself. ”The potency is too diluted outside of the host to make an adequate treatment. I can’t use it from my family. Just, the originators. Of course, if he hadn’t crashed the damn ship, none of this would have been necessary, but alas.” He spun the syringe slightly. “Hope you missed your buddy,” he gripped Caeden’s hair, pulling it hard to the opposite side of where he had injected him last.