My administrative director, Diane, sent me the photos while I was reviewing test results for the next group of pups."Viola, look. Ollie finally ate today."In the photo, Ollie and a few other children lay sprawled on the playroom floor, piecing together a little wolf from wooden blocks.Color had finally returned to his face, and his right eye no longer turned gray when his wolf destabilized.I zoomed in and stared at the photo for a long time.Ollie's wolf was missing a leg, lopsided and wobbly, just like the one on my desk.The one on my desk was Leo's. My son had made it for me when he was six.The old residential district in northern Moonbridge had suffered chemical contamination. Pups born there had far weaker wolves than children elsewhere. If they became infected, their wolves would go dormant for good before they turned eighteen.Leo had been one of the worst cases.I consulted every doctor I could find, but in the end, I still lost him when he was seven.Three years later, I
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