Page 56

Silence.

Not the poetic kind. Not the soft cinematic hush.

No.

This is the kind of silence that follows a scream so loud, it leaves your ears ringing for days.

I stare at him.

“You’re... joking.”

“I lack the protocol for humor.”

My breath stutters in my chest.

“No. No. That’s not—that’s not possible.”

“The data was verified three times.”

“Impossible,” I snap. “I—I was on the Hulk forweeks. There were no supplies. No... noconditions. My body was—my stress levels?—”

Reflector doesn’t blink. Can’t. But I swear he’slookingat me differently now.

“The child is viable,” he says. “Healthy. Genetic sequencing reveals it is not fully human.”

My stomach drops.

Not fully human.

I press my hands to my midsection.

Nothing. Just soft skin. Slight swell. Maybe psychosomatic. Maybe real.

Garokk.

Oh stars.

Garokk.

My mouth opens, then closes.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.”

I slide off the bed, legs trembling.

I barely make it to the mirror.

My reflection is a stranger. Hair dull, skin pale, eyes sunken and rimmed red. I touch my stomach again, this time more carefully.

He’s in there.

A piece of him.

A piece ofus.

I sink to my knees.