Now that he was closer, Trace could tell that the 'scratch' on the male bodybuilder (what, he couldn't appreciate the view?) looked suspiciously similar to claw marks. Maybe his rabid bobcat theory had some plausibility after all.
Tension was creeping up his spine as he imagined he saw shadows flicker in the corner of his eyes. He went almost unnaturally still, a long ingrained response that had gotten him caught less in his childhood than the nervous shifting of feet that came naturally to him. Bodybuilder didn't help, with his weird comment - maybe the blood loss was getting to him? - that he chose to ignore until he could properly concentrate on it.
Technically speaking, Trace was first aid certified, and should probably be assisting Fellow Redhead with the wound, but nah. She seemed to have it under control. He nodded at Other Boy's suggestion, but held off on actually moving forward to help until Fellow Redhead gave the go-ahead.
All of his more feral instincts started screaming at him, and he shifted quickly (a little too quickly to be entirely human) to scan the darkest part of the hallway. He couldn't see anything, enhanced vision notwithstanding, but there was something hanging around. He didn't appreciate feeling like prey, and couldn't suppress the quick shifting of his eyes and claws out of frustration. Thankfully he was facing away from the little group, and the dark hid his lapse, but he couldn't stop himself from glancing back nervously to make sure they hadn't seen.