A transgender teen’s post-op recovery is derailed when he is bitten by a werewolf and his body begins to change. A thought-provoking page-turner that will haunt you for days! Hunter’s life is at a turning point: After years of fighting his father for it, he’s gotten top surgery. He’s finally starting to feel comfortable in his own skin . . . only to be attacked by a strange creature in his backyard. Luckily, his best friend Gabe intervenes, and Hunter is able to walk away from the incident with his life—and new body—mostly intact. Still, something isn’t right. First, his wounds are healing . . . strangely . Then there are the feverish nightmares, and his teeth . . . they’re falling out of his head. Enter Mars, Hunter’s other best friend, who points out the obvious: That mysterious creature was a werewolf, and Hunter is becoming one too—unless they can figure out a way to kill it. Now, Hunter, Gabe, and Mars are in a race against time. A voice that could only belong to the creature itself is worming its way into Hunter’s head, and as the days pass, it’s getting louder. It promises revenge on Hunter’s transphobic peers if he succumbs to his lycanthropic transformation. Or he can reject the monster and fight alongside his friends before the body—and life—he’s fought so hard for slips away for good. The choice is Hunter’s. ★ "It’s a thrilling, provocative parable about body dysmorphia and transformation both earthly and mythical." — Publishers Weekly , starred review "Kisner combines werewolf lore, visceral body horror, and queer coming-of-age in this original transgender horror novel about identity, bodily autonomy, and self-love....ending with a much-needed message of acceptance , that 'our lives were always worth living.'" — Booklist "It offers an interesting vantage point into the idea of feeling out of control of one’s body and the emotional fallout it can cause.... will draw in readers looking for an unlikely romance ." — School Library Journal "Raw, unflinching, and deliciously disturbing .” —Kathryn Foxfield, author of  Good Girls Die First “ Equal parts poignant and terrifying , The Transition is a master class in horror. In his sophomore novel, Logan-Ashley Kisner continues to shine a spotlight on the bravery of trans kids in the face of (literal) monsters.” —Emily Cooper, author of Season of Fear Logan-Ashley Kisner was born and raised in—and continues to wander around—Las Vegas, Nevada. He graduated from UNLV with a bachelor’s degree in creative writing and a minor in film studies. As a transgender man and horror aficionado, he’s also spent the last few years as a historian, critic, and analyst of transgender characters and imagery used in the horror genre. He’s been published on several horror websites (including Dread Central and Slay Away with Us), and his reading of The Evil Dead as a trans narrative was published in Hear Us Scream: The Voices of Horror Volume II . He is the author of Old Wounds and The Transition . A couple weeks before my top surgery, I curled up with Michael Dillon’s memoir in the corner of the school library. He was the first transgender man to undergo top surgery, all the way back in 1942, but he wrote very little about the procedure and what to expect of it. What he did write was this: The anesthesia made him vomit for nearly a full day afterward, and he was so happy to finally be “rid of what I hated most.” I don’t know all the ways that top surgery has progressed since 1942, although I have to think that the anesthesia has gotten better. For me, the worst part has been the drains. Drains are these round, softball-­sized bulbs hung by pins from the compression binder and connected to these tubes that disappear into my chest beneath the incision marks on my pecs. They have to be emptied twice a day. I’ve been doing it myself for the last two and a half weeks, measuring as the blood has gone from a vibrant, syrupy red to a thick, sluggish black. It’s done a lot to solidify my belief that the human body is truly disgusting. Today, at last, I’m getting them taken out. “Now, this will feel weird, but it shouldn’t hurt.” The nurse—­whose name I’ve already forgotten—­pulls a glove over each hand. “Are you ready, Hunter?” I come back to the moment and nod. This doctor’s office is like every other, small and sparse and blindingly white. I sit at the edge of the exam table, bare-­chested and avoiding eye contact with my dad, who’s sitting a few feet away in a plastic chair. Being shirtless in front of him is strange because my chest doesn’t look male. Not when you compare it to, like, a cis guy’s chest. The nipple grafts are scabbed over and most of the skin is still numb to the touch. It looks weird and feels even weirder. The nurse puts one hand on the side of my chest while the other wraps around the first tube. I wince at the strange sensation and watch as she slowly pulls it out. She’s right; it doesn’t hurt but it feels weird. Like a m