The word Black Serpent echoed inside my skull, sharp, unreal. My breath caught in my throat.
“What do you mean?” I rasped, staring at the president as though I could tear the truth out of his face. “What the hell do you mean my son is also a victim? I tested him myself. I checked everything—he was fine! Perfectly fine!”
The president didn’t flinch. Calm, deliberate, he reached into his leather case and handed me a slim folder.
“See for yourself.”
My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside were medical documents—charts, scans, neurological notes. My eyes locked on the brain image, a black-and-white printout where irregular shadows sprawled like cracks in glass.
“What the…” My throat went dry.
The president’s voice was grave, unyielding. “That is your son’s brain. The genetic markers con
