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It happened so fast. And now I’m trapped by this madwoman.

Vessa leans closer, resting her hands on the edge of the gurney. What kind of reaction is she expecting from me?

“A hybrid,” Vessa sneers, the disgust bleeding through her clinical facade. “A dilution of our pristine bloodline. I was prepared to clear the variable from your system.”

She pauses, her eyes widening with a sickening, fanatical light.

“But then I realized the sheer magnitude of the opportunity,” Vessa breathes out. “The embryo carries Avaren genetics intertwined with your immune sequence. It is the perfect bridge. I do not have to synthesize the integration. I can watch it happen in real time. I can harvest the fetal tissue as it develops the resistance.”

Harvest.

Specimen.

My stomach turns. The last remnant of terror vanishes. The panic evaporates, leaving nothing behind but an endless, black void of homicidal clarity.

She looks at me and sees a victim. She sees a civilian female strapped to a table, useful only for the fluids pumping through her veins.

She does not see the woman who scheduled five executions on a Tuesday and slept soundly through Wednesday.

The monster inside me wakes up.

I do not scream. I do not thrash against the cuffs. I let a tear spill over my lower lash line, weaponizing my own biology to feed her arrogant delusion.

“Please,” I choke out, making my voice tremble and break. “You’re draining me. It’s cold.”

“Your volume will replenish.” Vessa dismisses my distress, turning her attention back to the centrifuge. “The automated system regulates your fluid intake to prevent cardiac arrest. And it is mostly a plasmapheresis circuit that removes plasma while returning the cellular components.”

I need a weapon. I need a signal.

I sweep my gaze over her waist. A thin, pointed metal stylus clips to the edge of her datapad holster.

I look at the holographic bio-monitor tracking my heartbeat. Cyrel mentioned the security grids on Avaris are deeply interconnected. If a patient’s vitals go critical, the machine automatically broadcasts a priority distress ping to the nearest orbital relay.

Orien is a spymaster. He is hunting me. If an unregistered medical ping flares where it shouldn’t, he will see it.

I force my breathing to hitch. I take rapid, shallow gasps, forcing my pulse higher and driving my respiration into an erratic rhythm.

The bio-monitor chimes, a sharp yellow warning flashing across the hologram.

Vessa clicks her tongue in annoyance. She steps back to the gurney, leaning directly over my chest to adjust the IV drip line attached to my right hand. The metal stylus on her belt hovers inches from my hip.

I push my heart rate higher. I visualize the Ghorvek tearing through the London tunnels. I picture the husk snapping its jaws inches from my face. My pulse skyrockets, the monitor shifting from yellow to a blaring, urgent red.

A loud, rhythmic alarm echoes through the subterranean room.

The two operatives at the door stiffen, their rifles coming up.

“She’s destabilizing!” Vessa snaps, her clinical detachment fracturing. She reaches across my body, her white coat brushing my torso as she grabs a syringe from the tray. “Hold her steady!”

Now.

My right hand remains locked in the cuff, but my fingers are free. I extend my index and middle fingers, slipping them under the fold of her coat. I pinch the metal stylus, sliding it out of its holster with a smooth, silent tug.

I pull it beneath my thigh, concealing the sharp metal against my own skin.

At the exact same moment, I force my body to go completely limp. I breathe steadily, letting my heart calm down.

The red alarm blares for three more seconds. Then, the machine registers the stabilization. The siren cuts off, the lights going green.