Veyron paused. The tension in the air thickened. "You ready?" he asked, not just referring to the task ahead—but to the morality of it all.
Thessa nodded. She was a doctor, trained to save lives. But these past few weeks, she had learned to toe the line between mercy and necessity. "Yes."
"Finish up. Make sure it's hygienically packed. I'll handle the smuggling into Blood City."
Again, she nodded, her mouth tightening with resolve.
With a slow breath, Veyron reached into his pocket and withdrew a small brass key. It glinted under the moonlight. He nodded at the guards, and one stepped aside while the other helped him pull the heavy sliding door open with a groan and a screech.
The scent hit them first. Coppery. Heavy. The scent of barely-living flesh and recycled air.
