Page 24

“Lana,” I say.

Her gaze tries to move. Her head jerks slightly toward the sound of my voice, then hits the bench again.

“Brox….” She mumbles.

Rio stands frozen in the doorway behind me. For once, he doesn’t move first. He just stares.

I walk to her side. Her arm feels too hot under my hand. Her pulse drums fast against my fingers when I find it. Her mouth is dry, lips cracked.

Rio moves to the other side of the bench, eyes fixed on Lana’s face. His hands hover over her but don’t land.

“What did she give you,” he whispers.

His jaw moves, but his voice doesn’t rise. The rage in him sits deeper now, heavier.

“The best thing…” Lana smiles, eyes flicking between us without focus.

“We’re here,” I tell her. “We’ve got you. You hear me?”

Her gaze rolls, then fixes somewhere past my ear.

My field of vision narrows to the straps on her wrists. I start un-cuffing her just as I hear a commotion outside, down the corridor.

Footsteps rush toward us, and Rio moves instantly, checking the corridor and pulling a gun from his waistband.

Sol appears first, one hand gripping on Morales’ arm hard enough to bruise. He drags her with him, then shoves her inside the room.

She stumbles once and catches herself, then straightens. Her gaze lands on Lana.

“Stop,” she says, breathing fast from the pace Sol set. “No sudden movements. She is in a delicate phase.”

Rio steps away from the bench and turns to her fully.

“I have her on a precise schedule,” Morales continues. Her voice slides into clinical mode so fast it stuns me. “Injections at three-hour intervals. Gradual increases in dosage so her system can adapt. Any interruption now risks sabotaging everything I’ve built.”

Everything she’s built.

“What did you give her?” I ask. There’s no heat in my tone. Not yet.

Morales keeps her eyes on Lana while she answers.

“A cocktail of sedatives, stimulants, and targeted agents,” she says. “I need her body to be tolerant to higher peaks. The initial dosage confirmed she can handle more.”

I stare at her. She sees my expression and finally turns to meet my eyes.

“I am preparing her for the next level,” she says. “The doses that will actually tell us something about her potential. You want answers? You want control? This is the cost.”

Lana’s hand jerks at the cuff. A small, helpless motion.

“She needs one final dose,” Morales continues. “Just one. Then we could observe real results. You would have data that matters.”

I draw my weapon with a steady hand, my eyes fixed on her as she speaks. She stands in the doorway, her hands now visibly trembling.

I steady the gun, the safety a click from release, fully prepared to empty every round into her body.

“If you pull her out of the trial now,” Morales says, trying desperately to ignore the fact that she’s dying in the next few seconds, her gaze sliding back to Lana’s face, “you derail months of work. Years of theory. You lose your best chance at understanding the–”

I don’t let her finish.