I put Luisa in a high chair but kept it in front of the TV. Sometimes I needed to breathe, and if a talking pig could give me that for ten minutes a day, I’d take it. When I turned around though, Seven was sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, watching the infants show just as intently. “Are they shifters?” he asked me, and I snorted. When he frowned, I schooled my features. “Uh, no. They just talk.” “And wear pants.” I nodded. “And live in social groups.” I nodded again. Okay, I could see what he was getting at. “Okay, yes. They’re shifters. Do you feel better now?” He nodded, his
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