Chapter 4: W. Voss Is a Girl

The burner phone I bought in Ohio started screaming at 8:41 a.m. on the day my family finally noticed. Sixty-three missed calls in eleven minutes. MOM. DAD. KAI. KAI. KAI. MOM. MOM. Four hundred and thirteen days of silence, and now the screen wouldn't stop shaking in my hand. Then one voicemail came through. Nine seconds. My father's voice, wrecked, barely a wolf's whisper: "Wren. Whatever happens today — do not let anyone see you shift. If you're alive, do not let them see. They're already...