A sharp rap on the door.
I whirl.
Patrick steps in, face carved from ice.
"Suit up. Follow me."
My stomach plummets—Steven... please be safe.
They might be about to kill him. If that happens, I'll make Rose... and the Triangle... pay—Ashur, too, if it comes to that.
I rise stiff-legged. The door closes behind him. I stare at it a beat, fists twisting the bedcover. Then I pull on the yellow jumpsuit over my white tank, zip to mid-chest, smooth trembling hands through my hair, spine straight—game face.
Patrick's waiting in the corridor, disturbingly serene, eyes glittering as if everything is finally tilting his way. I fall in behind him, cursing myself at every step for letting control slip. If they've nabbed Steven—
"Where are we going?" I whisper.
No answer.
In the lift I fix on the doors. He taps the lab level; a small breath of relief. At least it's the doctor, not an execution squad. Still, my pulse drums. Out of the coffin-box elevator, down the gray hall—toward the "Hell Gate" lab that ends at Ashur's glass cage.
Past the guards, into the hall.
The doctor is waiting, immaculate: pressed white shirt, fresh shave, hair combed; even his cologne swirls in the sterile air. He turns with a razor smile.
"Finally."
Patrick's gaze needles my back.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
The doctor strolls closer, shoes cracking the hush.
"Good news for you," he says. "I delayed Ashur's transfer. That lead you chased about his tattoo—I dug it up."
Another step; the scent of mint and vetiver.
"And I'm convinced no one—certainly not me—can reach him after five years of breaking bones and minds. But you." His head tilts. "You've proved useful. I'm putting you on the Piranha Project."
Inside, frozen fire shatters into shards of ice—exactly the opening I need. My eyes spark.
"With pleasure, sir."
His smirk widens.
"Not that simple..."
I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes up past the doctor, over the bridge of his nose, into his eyes. Something in them was different—he wasn't the same man.
I kept my voice from shaking. "How?"
He flashed a tooth-bright smile, slipped his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks, and stared me down.
"To earn information like that, you'll have to prove yourself."
The chill of disinfectant—and that cursed cologne—mixed in the air, turning my stomach. I felt heat crawl over my skin.
"Your wish, sir," I said, though it felt like a castle had caved in my chest.
"Excellent!" He laughed, then flicked a chin toward Patrick. The admin nodded and left, door hissing shut.
I faced the doctor. "Your wounds—they're not infected, are they?"
He smirked; the jab landed. I saved your worthless life and now you want me to prove myself?
"My physician says they'll heal fast."
I pointed toward his bandaged side. "Ashur did that? How—with all that security?"
One eyebrow jumped.
"He held his breath four minutes, slowed his pulse so low we thought he'd coded. Turns out one guard was a Rose spy—used the 'cardiac' excuse to pull Ashur from the cube. Ashur played dead the whole way. Then—eyes open—he yanked the guard's helmet, took out three men with a single visor shard, and drove the broken edge into me."
A snort. "All inside sixty seconds."
I stared, stunned.
"Guards rushed in, pinned him, sedated him. We nabbed the mole, tortured him until he talked... finally, he gave us a name."
My heart lurched. "And?"
The doctor's grin spread. "Guess what I uncovered."
The door clicked. His gaze slid past me, wicked light in his eyes.
"Your final test has arrived."
I spun.
Ground vanished beneath me.
"Steven—our beloved admin"
stood there: face swollen and bruised, eyes half-open and haunted, wrists bound, shoulders bent.
Patrick loomed beside him wearing a victor's smirk.
It felt as if the ground split open and swallowed me whole.
The only family I had left.
My friend.
My ally.
My everything—
They'd captured him.
They had Steven.