Family.
“You walked in here,” he’d said slowly. “On two legs. But your eyes… your eyes were yellow, Dr. Hervas.”
Six months ago, she had been a wildlife biologist, tracking a wolf pack in the Absaroka Range. She’d found their kill site: an elk calf, picked clean, the snow around it churned into a slurry of mud and crimson. She’d taken a sample, and that was the last thing she remembered clearly. The next memory was waking up three days later in a ranger station, her shirt shredded, her ribs bruised, and a park ranger named Delgado looking at her like she’d crawled out of a grave.