AKIKO
Giancarlo's breathing evens out after thirty minutes, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of someone who's finally stopped fighting their own biology. The ninth tail has settled, temporarily satisfied with my proximity. I trace the new lines around his eyes—stress written in flesh—and marvel at how gold has threaded through his irises like someone gilded them while he slept.
Dr. Tanaka checks monitors one last time before leaving us alone. "Three hours. That's all he gets before his metabolism burns through the sedative."
The door clicks shut. Through the windows, Chicago spreads out in a grid of lights that pulse like a circuit board, each intersection a node where violence might bloom. Somewhere in that maze, Vivienne prepares her endgame.
Seventeen years. She spent se
