“Oh.” I swallow. “It’s fine. I’m sure they didn’t mean— ”

“It’s unacceptable, and your and Koen’s anger is perfectly justified. He’s been suspended, pending investigation.” When did Juno talk with Koen about my anger? “Secondly, I’m sorry it took me this long to contact you. I’m sure you’ve been anxious about the results— ”

“She absolutely has not,” Misery informs her cheerfully. “Her avoidance is the stuff psychiatrists’ dreams are made of.”

Juno blinks. “Well, Serena, either way, the reason this took months is that I had to run your father’s DNA through several Were databases, and— ”

“My father? You mean . . . my father was a Were?”

“Yes.” She seems taken aback. “I thought you knew. It was widely shared in the Human news. Maddie felt that the public would want to know, and— I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault if I spent the last few months hiding inside a walnut, and . . .” I shake my head and wait for my perception of myself to adjust. I never fully articulated it, but somewhere, in a corner of my mind made up of no words and many, many vibes, I assumed that the Were was my mother. Probably because that’s the case with . . .

“I’m not like her,” I say. The relief is a physical, tangible thing.

“Not like who?”

“Ana.”

Juno nods. “Indeed.”

“Does it mean that . . . Does it mean that we’ll have different outcomes, too?”

“Outcomes? Of what?”

“Just . . . different challenges. Or issues.” She won’t have a terminal diagnosis at twenty-five, will she?

“Presumably. We’re working on a sample of two, but you already manifest in different ways. You are closer to Human— redder blood, lower basal temperature, less acute senses. Ana may not shift, but she couldn’t pass for a Human the way you did at her age. So, yes. We can assume that different genotypes will lead to different phenotypes.”

Misery tilts her head. “You seem happy about it.”

“Oh, no, I’m not.” I notice my grin on the screen. I look on the verge of swing dancing on top of the keyboard. Probably because I am. “Just tired. Go ahead, please.” Juno buys it. Misery is somewhat trickier, but I’ve been hiding shit from her for years now. For her own good, I remind myself, careful not to look at her as I change the topic. “How can you tell that my father was the Were?”

“We took a look at your mitochondrial DNA.”

“Right. And mitochondrial DNA is mostly passed down from mother to child.” Noticing Misery’s thunderstruck expression, I ask, “What?”

“Nothing. Just, look at you. Being all sciency.”

“I had a mandatory biology class in college.”

“And you retained knowledge from that low C?”

“Stay out of my transcripts.”

“But they’re such a riveting bedtime read.”

“And it was a C- plus.”

“You woman in STEM.”

She deserves being flipped off, and Juno’s throat clearing signals her agreement. “I used DNA comparison to find your genetic relatives, but in the Southwest, there are no individuals with DNA segments identical to yours.”

“Does that mean . . . no relatives?”

“We can be reasonably sure that your father was not Southwest.”

“Bummer.” Misery looks disappointed, like she wanted for the two of us to have this in common. For her home to be my home.

“So I expanded my search to other packs,” Juno continues. “Which complicated things.”

Misery snorts. “The other Alphas giving you access to their precious little data was not on my bingo card.”

“That’s good, because they didn’t. However, once Lowe reached out, most of them did agree. The ones who didn’t . . . they came around later, after Koen had a chat with them.” It’s obvious from her blank face that chat is not the right word for what happened. “This is where things get messy. I wasn’t given direct access to the databases— their geneticists ran Serena’s DNA. We have no choice but to trust that they did their job well and that their databases are accurately maintained.”

“And you do?”

She hesitates. “I think so, yes. Serena is . . . a hot commodity, for many reasons. If a pack had any ground to claim her, they absolutely would. And they did not.”

Misery scratches her head. “Dude, did you spring up from a cabbage patch?”

“Maybe? Could I be from another continent?”

“That’s one explanation. Lowe has contacts in Europe, so we’re exploring that. More likely . . .” Juno pauses. Her eyes meet mine. “There’s one American pack whose structure has gone through several transformations. Most of its records were lost.”

“Okay. And will you tell us which pack that is, or— ”

“No need.” I interrupt Misery, because I already know. “It’s the Northwest, isn’t it?”

CHAPTER 10

She is braiding her hair. Bends her head forward, sectioning the strands and paying no mind to the world around her. Doesn’t notice him lingering at the door. Her bare nape is there for him to stare at, pink and vulnerable and accessible.

It’s so flagrantly indecent, he must excuse himself.

IT’S MISERY WHO ASKS THE ONLY SENSIBLE QUESTION: “HOW DO you lose a genetic database? I mean, Koen’s temperamental and all that, but even he wouldn’t just misplace— ”

“ ‘Destroyed’ is a better word for it. I believe it was an accident.”

“What kind of accident?”

Juno hesitates just a fraction of a second. “A fire, I think. Twenty years ago.”

I remember what Alex told me. “Does this have anything to do with the fact that the Northwest was divided into different factions?”

“I’m sorry.” Another infinitesimal pause. “I don’t know much about the circumstances.”

I exchange a wordless glance with Misery, who picked up on the same offbeat vibes. “What about my . . . mother?” The word sounds disturbingly odd in my mouth. “Do the Humans have data bases?”

“Nothing as thorough as ours. Their registries are mostly opt-ins, biotech companies that offer personalized screening. That covers a small percentage of the Human population on this continent, but I’ll try.”

I scratch the side of my neck, weighing my options. Taking the temperature. I’m disappointed, more than I thought I’d be. But it’s fine. I don’t need to know—

“Serena, I realize that this is a sensitive question, but . . . Misery mentioned that you do not remember much from your childhood. Is that true?”

I nod.

“Is there anything about your earliest memories that might help us refine our search?”

“Not really, no. I barely . . .”

What’s your name, honey? Do you know how we can get in touch with your parents?

She’ll be in the car for several hours. Let’s make sure she’s not conscious for that.

Are you stupid? I hate the dumb ones. Can she have a different bed, away from mine?

It’s no big deal. Just the desert. Have you not seen a prickly pear before?

I shake my head. “I started linearly encoding my childhood memories when I was seven or eight, but I have some spotty recollection from before. The earliest is being in Paris, a small Human town north of The City. It was April, and I was . . . They estimated my age at about six. I was told that I wandered into the Child Services office with no idea how I got there.” My tone is always detached when I talk about this, because I never feel as though I’m the one who went through it. “No one local knew me, not even when they expanded the radius of their search. I couldn’t remember my own name, and the nurses got tired of calling me ‘the girl.’ One of them named me Serena, after her mother, and . . . Well, it stuck. Two decades, and still going strong.”

“Sadly, not all of us can be named after the literal state of being in agony,” Misery says. Her grin pulls me back into the present.

I return her smile. “A missed opportunity. It pains me to admit how inflated my ego has become, but given the years of cloak-and-dagger surveillance, I assume Humans have thorough files on me.”