“You felt it when I tried to read your mind earlier,” I clarify.
It’s a wild guess. It honestly could’ve just been a mosquito biting her neck at the exact time I penetrated her mind.
But the look in her eyes tells me otherwise.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says stiffly.
She’s lying. “Does he know?” I push. “The commander?”
She doesn’t answer.
“The camera is off.” I gesture to the ceiling. “You did that?”
After a beat, her head dips in assent.
“That means he doesn’t know,” I say slowly. “You turned off the camera because you were afraid I might ask you, and you didn’t want him to hear that.”
No response.
“Are there other Mods in Tierra Fe?” I ask, my mind racing with possibilities. “Or are you the only one?”
A faint smile tugs on her mouth. “We both know I’m not going to answer that question.”
With a soft breath, she moves away from the door and walks toward me. She sinks onto her knees and settles at my feet, her gaze flicking to my injured leg.
“It’s a bad break,” she tells me.
“I know. I’m not sure how I’m still conscious,” I admit. “The pain is excruciating.”
She studies me like she’s piecing a puzzle together. Or like she’s trying to decide something. I suspect the latter, because she suddenly gives a brisk nod and extends her hands toward my leg.
“What—”
The protest dies when she places her palms directly on my broken bones. My leg screams in agony. I try to jerk away from her, but she makes a shushing sound.
“It’ll be over soon,” she murmurs.
The implication hangs thick in the cell, and I suck in a breath when I realize what’s happening. Warmth seeps into my ankle and spreads upward, the sensation eerie and familiar.
She’s healing me.
I stare at her in shock, but she’s not looking at me. She’s too absorbed with her task.
When I feel my bones begin to pulsate, it isn’t accompanied by pain. The heat of her touch surrounds my leg in a cocoon, even as her energy literally sets my bones and knits them back together. The pain ebbs. Bones shifting. Muscles stretching and pulling together.
It takes longer than it did for Ellis to heal my wrist, perhaps because of how severe this break was. We sit in total silence. Her brow is furrowed as she works. Beads of sweat gather on her temples, but I don’t know if it’s from the effort or the humidity clogging our pores. She doesn’t move a muscle, just keeps her hands pressed to my lower leg, until finally, the pain disappears completely.
She removes her hand. “How’s the pain?”
“Gone,” I say gratefully.
“To answer your question…” She tips her head, shrugging. “No, my father doesn’t know.”
This woman seems determined to shock me into silence.
“Your father?” I finally say. “Commander Vásquez is your father?”
“My name is Valeria Vásquez.” She extends her hand in greeting.
