DAVE
Self-Control
Assistant Director Wong's black SUV crunches across frost-brittle grass, federal plates reflecting November light that cuts sharp through Kentucky's bare trees. The Prime writhes beneath my skin with violence that makes my bones crack and reform, blessing-fire scorching through veins while I fight for human shape. Three wolf pups sleep in their bassinets on the porch—a miracle worth documenting, all three quiet simultaneously, tiny chests rising and falling in synchronized rhythm.
"Congratulations on the births." Wong steps out, professional composure cracking when he sees Hikaru's white fur against his brothers' darker coats. "Three healthy sons. The Bureau sends its regards."
Golden light pulses beneath my skin, visible even in daylight, making Wong step back instin
