"It comes down to Carnot's thermodynamics, Horst," says Johannes with that same chilly, predatory smile. "If it goes up, it comes down. I assure you," he turns back to the door that leads inside, having made up his mind, "anything that lives can be killed. And very many things that don't."

His spirits have lifted, against all logic. He's aware it's irrational. The presence of huge, possibly man-eating wolves should not cheer him up. But honestly, being trapped in this cushy facsimile of a city without so much as a captor at whom to glare his defiance has been taking its restless toll on him. The weather has not been helping either. You can't do anything about weather. It just sort of happens, like decay, like Carnot's heat loss, like all manner of things that Johannes Cabal hates. Wolves, on the other hand. He likes a problem he can stab--and repurpose.

"You're strong enough to restrain one," he states as a matter of plain fact, standing next to his brother with his back to the rooftop's edge. "Actually, you're more than strong enough to kill one without my help, but that could get dangerous. And messy. I'd like one intact." He doesn't bother to explain why. Horst is not an idiot. "I'll owe you one," he adds and nudges Horst in the ribcage with his elbow as he walks back inside. He's looking for his coat; he does not look back to see if Horst is following him. He already knows he will.