It had been a strange purchase, really. The old woman at the market stall had been insistent—"Special seeds, dearie. From my homeland. Your birds will love them."

You'd paid without thinking twice.

Genya, the white-and-violet one, was already wobbling toward the bowl, his clumsy little feet skidding on the granite.

One seed. Then two.

Then—

A flash of light. Bright. Blinding.

You stumbled back, hand flying to your eyes.

It was a voice. Human. Deep. And right behind you.