“Please help us,” I whispered. “Help me.”
Marr rolled his eyes and pressed another button. More poison flooded my veins. The room blurred.
But my skin—
It was crackling.
Like something was waking.
“Is she really like you said?” Alan asked softly. “Can she take power? Is she some kind of monster?”
Marr stepped closer, lifting a hand toward me—then stopped, just in time. “A monster? No. Not Persephone here.”
“Then what is she?”
“She’s a miracle.” Marr said, his voice reverent. “Both my girls are.”
Alan shifted on his feet. “And the other girl?”
“A troubled soul. But don’t worry. This will be good for her.” Marr smiled. He called out the door again.
“Bring her in.”
A sick, hollow dread tore through my gut.
Lyra Vale was wheeled inside on another gurney, unconscious. She was pale as ash, her gold hair limp and damp against the pillow. They placed her beside David, like pieces on a board.
“Stop this,” I said hoarsely. “Stop it.”
Both men glanced at me as though I were nothing more than background noise.
“Lyra Vale. A talented empath. APA 55L, but her power has been unstable of late. Too much dark mixed in with the light.”
Alan swallowed, but his eyes gleamed. “So?”
“Unstable empathic matrices bleed energy,” Marr continued mildly. “They absorb pain. Fear. Excess.”
He glanced toward Lyra.
“That makes them effective buffers. It allows my subjects to strip impurities without damaging the recipient.”
“How does it work?”
Marr was already attaching the wires.
“Watch.”
Close your eyes. Pain is near.
Echo’s voice reverberated through my mind, distant—like she was calling to me through water.
“See the blood moving from each girl?” Marr said calmly. “It is pure. Perfect.”
“The colour—” Alan murmured.
“100L,” Marr said, gesturing to Echo. “And 100D.” He flicked his gaze to me. “Perfectly balanced.”
The four of us were connected now.
