LOGINEvelyn’s eyes are steel, but there’s a flicker of something underneath. Not doubt, exactly. More like the recognition that I’m telling the truth and it scares her. She drums her nails—tap tap tap—then snaps the binder closed. “You’d better hope you’re right. Because if she’s not here, and Nathan tr
The only thing worse than holding down the fort is doing it from someone else’s throne. I’ve set up camp behind Mara Wolfe’s desk—a three-meter slab of matte black composite that reflects nothing, not even me. I can feel the residual heat of her palms in the armrest, the slight indentation in the le
I howl again, this time softer, and he answers with a story about a case we almost lost but didn’t. The logic of it slips into the cracks between my animal thoughts, scaffolding the mind that will have to rebuild itself come morning. I circle the mat, then collapse onto it, spent. The hours run tog
The cage is perfect. I pace the perimeter on all fours, claws clicking a Morse code into the steel plates. I scratch at the base of the glass, not to escape, but to leave a mark. Ownership is an animal principle, and this is my territory, at least for the night. The drapes are tight; no light leaks
The fingers are gone now, replaced by something more honest: claws, black as ink, the quick still visible at the base but receding with every pulse. I flex the new hands, feel the bones in my wrist slide and lock, the pads on my palm ballooning with fluid. I touch my face, expecting to find myself,
Time loses meaning. The tremors become convulsions, each one wringing a cry from my throat. I try to keep quiet, to preserve some shred of dignity, but the sound is animal and helpless. I’m aware of the comm, aware of Lucas’s voice counting down—twenty, fifteen, ten—but it’s all background to the ri
The lock clicks behind me as I slip into the office. I am the wolf, even in tailored business attire. Even with it all wrapped up so tight. The edge of my existence cuts deep. The aftertaste of the night clings to my senses, a raw, metallic tang that I cannot swallow away. My steps falter, then re
There is a freedom in it, a temptation that digs claws deep into my resolve and leaves it ragged and bleeding. I have spent a lifetime restraining the urge, tightening the leash until it bites into my own flesh. But the promise of release is a seductive whisper, its breath warm against my neck, its
The crosswalk sign flashes red as I approach, an unwavering command to stop, to wait, to hold. I heed it, just this once. There is no harm in pausing when I know what lies ahead. The penthouse is a world apart from the one I now move through, but I carry pieces of it with me, fragments of luxury an
The lock clicks behind me, each sound an echoing note of freedom. I inhale the promise of the morning and the heavy shroud of Derek’s latest message unfurls in the back of my mind. I will not think about it, about him, until I must. The weight of obligation falls away as I step forward, closing the







