The Body Rejects What It Cannot Assimilate
The door to General Harrington's office was closed. Eleanor Whitmore stood in the corridor of the Pentagon's eastern wing, her hand halfway raised to knock, Seraphina perched on her left arm in a silence that was unusual for the falcon. The peregrine tilted her head toward the door and let out a low, questioning sound—not a cry, not a call, but something in between, something that Eleanor had...
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