I glance down to find that his reptilian eyes have slid open. His gaze is fixed on me, and for a moment he reminds me far too strongly of Durga. The lines that shape his body are unfamiliar—clearly he isn’t one of my mother’s constructions—but he’s a terrapoid through and through, and it’s enough to rattle me. She’s gone. She’s really gone.

Breathe, I remind myself. What comes next?

“Make it fast,” my mother told me. “The quicker the cut, the slower he’ll react.”

I pull too hard. The blade dips against the pup’s skin, flaying the purse membrane wide open as he rushes toward me, and all of a sudden the baby Reckoner is free.

And he’s pissed.

He lunges up, his beak snapping, and before I can react, he’s got a chunk of my hair locked in his bite. The deck behind me comes alive, Santa Elena shouting as her crew draw their guns and point them at me and the pup. He twists viciously, his stubby limbs flailing, and the sharp edge of his beak shears off some of my hair.

The rest rips right out of my scalp.

But I’m free. I stagger backward as the baby continues to thrash, rolling off his back and into the water. He lets out a nasally squeal as if the world he’s been born into has already offended him.

“Lower your guns,” I shout, using the partition to haul myself to my feet.

The crew doesn’t obey me—of course they don’t—but after a nod from Santa Elena, they stand down. The baby Reckoner runs up against the tank’s barrier and bounces off, still squalling. His stumpy tail thrashes against the water.

I lunge for the bellows and the thermometer. I’ve got mere seconds to get this done before the pup locks onto me again. There’s some part of me that’s gone raw and wild and animal, and I let it loose as I rush toward the beast. The Reckoner wheels, but I hook my fingertips under his keratin plating and swing myself around onto his back before his jaws can reach me. He bucks and screams, his eyes rolling. I drive the bellows into his primary blowhole and squeeze them, forcing the noise back down his throat and then sucking it right back out.

I toss the device to the side, not caring where it lands. But before I can get the thermometer placed, the pup rolls on his back, plunging me underwater. I choke on the putrid mix of saltwater and amniotic fluid, and the baby’s weight slams me against the bottom of the pool.

For a moment, stars dot my vision.