Kingston
The morning after was supposed to be triumphant.
Sunlight cut through the blinds of my penthouse office like a blade: bright, golden, and warm. I should have been riding high. My phone was lighting up with messages, notifications flooding in, most of them bearing the same headline: NEW DRUG APPROVED.
The long-awaited compound my team and I had poured years into—blood stabilization for hybrid werewolves—was finally cleared for release. And it was largely thanks to Cora saving the data from the lab’s fire.
But despite it all, I was distracted.
I sat behind my desk, shoulders tense, lips pressed into a line as I scrolled through the congratulations. Investors were already calling for interviews. Approval rates had spiked overnight.
And all I could think about was her.
Cor
