I needed money, so I sold myself to that cold, handsome man for seven nights. He left behind a black card and an ice-cold eggshell, then vanished. Three months later, a doctor found six coiled serpentine shadows inside my womb. I discarded every trace of my identity and fled to a snowbound cabin, hoping to stay alive. But the day I gave birth alone in a blizzard, what crawled out weren't monsters. They were six babies with golden slit pupils who called me "Mama." My children were not priceless treasures. To the powerful guys, they were research subjects. To the other species, they were "filthy half-breeds." When cold needles pressed against all six of my children's chests, I heard the blast door torn from its frame. The man who had vanished three years ago stood in the smoke. Six golden threads glowed from his palm, each connected to a child, and black blood still seeped from the wounds he'd torn open breaking through the blockade. "Get your hands off my family."
