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"You knew." She looks up at me, her eyes blazing. "You fucking knew all along."

"Yes."

"And you kept this from me?" She slams her palm down on the documents. "Do you have any idea what this means? People have died, Evan. They've fucking died while you sat on this information!"

"It wasn't that simple…"

"Bullshit! … What possible reason could justify this? Money? Power? Your fucking reputation?"

"Are you going to say anything?" she demands.

"If you'll let me explain."

"Oh, please do." She crosses her arms. "I'm dying to hear how you justify creating a virus that's killing shifters across the country."

I take a deep breath. "I didn't know what it would become."

She laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. "That's your defense?"

"I'm not defending myself… I'm telling you what happened."

She watches me, waiting.

"Before I took over Blackthorn Biotech, I was in the military." I pace the length of my office. "Special ops division that worked with shifter recruits."

"You were a soldier?"

"For eight years." I nod. "That's where I met General Hammond. He was my superior officer and my mentor."

"The man who just declared an open season on shifters was your mentor?" Her voice drips with disbelief.

"He wasn't always like that." I stop pacing and lean against the window. "Or maybe he was, and I just didn't see it. He approached me after I left the service and took over my family's company. He said he had an idea that could help shifters."

"Help them how?"

"That he could create a drug that would enhance their abilities and give them more control." I laugh bitterly.

Dahlia's eyes narrow. "And you believed him?"

"I wanted to." I turn to face her fully. "Think about it, Dahlia. A drug that could give shifters complete control over their transformations. No more accidental shifts during emotional moments. It would have changed everything."

"And made you obscenely rich in the process."

I don't deny it. "The money was a factor, yes. But I also thought we were doing something good. Something revolutionary."

"So, what happened?"

"The initial tests were promising. The drug increased transformation speed and reduced pain. But then subjects started showing instability." I rub my temples, remembering. "Their shifts became erratic. Unpredictable."

"And instead of stopping, you kept going," she accuses.

"Hammond insisted we were close to a breakthrough. That we just needed to refine the formula." I meet her gaze. "What I didn't know was that he had changed the parameters of the research."

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't want a drug that gave shifters control. He wanted the opposite. Hammond wanted to create a biological agent that could trigger transformations on command." My voice hardens. "A weapon to turn shifters into soldiers who could be controlled."

"He wanted to weaponize shifters."