The thing about the Horizon is that you have some degree of control over your appearance. When Wilhelm enters, he always imagines himself in favorite items of clothing from home, the jeans and sneakers and sweatshirts he misses. On this visit, he mentally scrubs away the filth that covers every inch of his body, and smooths away the wispy, scratchy stubble that's scattered over his cheeks.

But the fungus that sprouts all over his skin, crawling out of open wounds, stays where it is. He doesn't register it as a problem; it's just a part of him now, like his moles or acne.

Relief hits him when Rhy rushes toward him. Kyle wouldn't listen, and neither would Kell, but Rhy is softer. He's always lent him an ear, even if they didn't always see eye to eye. His concern is sweet, but Wilhelm doesn't have time to treasure it. Pulling his sleeves down to his wrists, he takes Rhy's hands in his and gives him a squeeze.

"Rhy, it's okay," he insists, only a prickle of annoyance edging through his voice. "I'll be okay, it's—" He sucks his lips in, swallows. "I'm worried about Kell."