Timothy's POV

The claws come during breakfast with Sophia.

One second, I'm holding a fork. The next, black claws pierce through my fingertips and clatter against the plate. Coffee spills across the white tablecloth.

"Timothy." Sophia's voice is carefully neutral. "Your wolf."

"I know." I force the shift back. It takes three tries. My hands shake as human nails replace claws. "Sorry."

"This is the third time this week." She dabs at the coffee stain with her napkin. "Your control is ...