I’m so stuck on the eerie sight of baby Reckoners that it takes me a few seconds to realize my mom’s not alone in here. She stands with her back to me, her arms folded as she stares down at a cryo-crate, and Fabian Murphy is at her side. He glances my way and motions for an extra minute.

I nod back to him, a flush building in my cheeks. Murphy is our International Genetically Engineered Organisms Council liaison. One of the biggest figures in the Reckoner business. A man who controls the entire industry. And I definitely shouldn’t have traipsed into the lab in nothing but my wetsuit.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Leung,” he tells my mother, giving her a consoling pat on the shoulder. He looks worlds out of place in his tailored suit. “I know it reflects poorly to lose so much of your stock, but you’ve got to remember that by catching unviable embryos early, we minimize the risk of disappointing our investors. Between that and the recent … security concerns, we need to be taking extra steps for the good of the business. There have been reports of theft, of break-ins at some of our top stables. The new crop of pups has to be stronger than ever.”

Mom shakes her head, and I don’t need to see her face to know that she’s got her lips pursed the way she always does when she’s calculating something. Finally she turns to Murphy and offers a hand. “Thank you. Your business is appreciated, as ever.”

He grasps her hand and gives it one firm shake, his gray eyes sparkling in the lab’s bright lights. “Until next time,” he says, wearing the grin of a man who’s gotten exactly what he wants. The IGEOC agent grabs the handle of the cryo-crate and begins to drag it toward the massive doors. “Cassandra,” he says, nodding to me.

I nod back, folding my arms over my chest.

“Good luck out there tomorrow,” he offers, but there’s something strange caught in his throat as he says it, and for a moment he looks profoundly uncomfortable.

As if I needed another reason to be nervous about what tomorrow holds.

Mom waits to speak until the door’s bolted behind him. “How many times do I have to tell you to change before coming up here? You’re dripping everywhere—did you even towel off?”

“Sorry, it’s just—”

“Cas, I’ve said it before. Think things through before charging in.”

“Mom, something’s wrong with Durga.”

That gets her. I see the shift happen in her eyes, her parent-brain batted to the side as scientist-brain takes over. “Symptoms?” she asks, gliding over to the computer and dragging up Durga’s records with one elegant swipe of her finger.

“She seemed unsteady when I was checking over. Tremors in her legs.”

“That’s it?”

I nod.