I barge in like fury wrapped in a scarred body and black armor. And she’s right where I knew she’d be—hunched over her cobbled-together med bench, pale in the harsh blue of the stim lamp, hair tied back in a rush, hands shaking just enough to tell me she’s about to do something that matters.
She jumps when she sees me. Drops a pair of forceps. “Shit!”
I say nothing.
Just walk up.
And snatch the injector from the table.
“Hey—!” she barks, lunging.
Too late. I’m already flipping it in my hand, thumb tracing the casing until my eye catches on the lettering burned into the side.
“Alpha Source,” I read aloud. “Gen Extractor. Version 3.7. Illegal tech. Bio-classified.”
Her mouth is a tight line.
“Jaela,” I say, low. “Start talking.”
“I told you?—”
“No. You spun science garbage last time and walked away like I wouldn’t call the bluff.”
She steps forward, hands out like she can grab the words back. “Give that back.”
I throw it.
Hard.
The injector smashes against the far wall, pieces scattering like shrapnel.
She gasps. “You bastard!That was calibrated!”
“You don’t come all this way,” I roar, “cross hell, survive the Scar, worm your way back into my bed for aresearch project!”
She flinches like I hit her.
I breathe heavy, like my own rage is suffocating me. My hands clench at my sides, claws half-formed.
“I let you in,” I growl. “Again. You lied. Again.”
She opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.
I close the distance. Nose to nose. “So what is it? What the fuck are you doing here, Jaela? Don’t youdaresay ‘a study.’”
She shakes. Not out of fear. Out of pressure. Like she’s about to snap.
And she almost does.
But not all the way.
“I need something only you can give,” she whispers.
My heart thuds once, hard. “What?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Try.”
