I pulled on my blouse, loose jeans, and the sneakers I'd borrowed from Rose. It took longer than it should have — my feathers kept snagging on the fabric, and my tail made every small movement feel wrong. But I managed.

Back in my room, I stared at the mess on the floor. The egg I'd laid yesterday, pale and impossible. My stomach turned at the sight of it. I cleaned everything up, scrubbed the floor until it looked like nothing had happened, and wrote a note to Rose:

Hey Rose,
Went to visit my parents for a few days. Don't worry about me.
— Hal

Short. Casual. Nothing that would make her wonder.

Then I packed a bag. Some clothes, some staff, whatever I thought I'd need. And the egg. I don't know why I took it. Maybe because it was the only thing that made sense to me anymore. Maybe because I couldn't stand the thought of leaving it there alone in an empty room.

The bus was nearly empty. I found a seat at the back and sat down, trying to look like a normal person. The jeans pinched my tail feathers, and the hard seat pressed against the new bone at the base of my spine. What I really wanted was to lie flat on my belly, but that would have drawn stares. So I sat, jaw clenched, and tried not to think about how sore I was.

It didn't work.

Every time I shifted, I felt a dull ache deep in my cloaca, and the memory of the lab came rushing back: Brooke's mouth on me, her hands, the way we'd joined ourselves together on that filthy floor. I'd had sex with my professor. My professor. If someone had told me a week ago that I'd be lying in a lab, clucking like a hen and begging for it, I would have laughed in their face.

I didn't feel like laughing now.

When the bus pulled into the station near my parents' house, I stood up and saw the wet spot I'd left on the seat. My face went crimson. I hurried off without looking back, praying no one had noticed.

The walk to my parents' house was short. The house looked the same as always — the same flower pots, the same peeling paint on the porch. Like nothing had changed, even though everything …