Chapter 29: The Mended Bowl

The clinic was quiet in the way a held breath is quiet—waiting, tense, ready to break. Fong Siu-Bak sat on the floor with his back against the wall, the cat a warm, vibrating weight on his lap, and tried to convince his body that stillness was not a betrayal. The hunger was there, as always, a low growl in his gut that had become as familiar as his own name. But beneath it, deeper, the seed pulsed...