The days leading up to the Webb meeting were a blur of concrete and bruises.
Selene dragged me down to that bunker before sunrise every single morning. The goal wasn't just shifting anymore; it was surgical control. Partial transformations. Snapping claws out of human fingertips. Flashing gold eyes to cut through the dark. Dropping fangs for a split-second bite and then pulling them back.
"Webb's muscle is going to be waiting for the full shift," she told me, pacing around while I kneeled on the concrete, sweating through my shirt. "They won't expect precision. Just use exactly what you need, exactly when you need it."
I held up my hand and stared at my fingers. I forced the heat forward. Silver fur washed over my knuckles and vanished. Then, heavy, curved black claws slid out from unde
