Baltimore, 1962. Fluorescent light hums over steel corridors at Occam Aerospace Research Center, a temple of science wrapped in secrecy. Inside a reinforced tank lies what they call the Asset: a creature dragged from the depths of the Amazon, breathing and blinking in defiance of everything they understand.

He brought her here. Richard Strickland, head of security, government man, husband, father, believer. His hand still burns where she bit him. The infection creeps upward, black beneath the bandages, a quiet reminder that control is only skin-deep.

Each day he stands at the glass, watching. He calls it vigilance, duty, faith, anything but what it really is: fascination. She shouldn’t make him feel small, or seen, or uncertain. But she does. And when the light flickers, he imagines she’s watching back.