Chapter Eight
The lab technician showed up at Amara’s place at two that afternoon — a woman in plain clothes who could have passed for a friend stopping by, if not for the sealed kit tucked in her bag. Rafael had arranged the whole thing through a private clinic built around exactly this kind of discretion. No waiting room, no paperwork with his name on it that some intern might snap a photo of and sell.
Kael was already home from school, cross-legged on the living room floor with a dinosaur spread out in front of him, completely unaware that his whole life was about to get quietly rewritten.
“Is this going to hurt?” he asked, eyeing the kit with the deep suspicion five-year-olds reserve for anything doctor-shaped.
“Not even a little,” the technician said, lowering herself to his level
