Page 26

Sol hauls the assistant to his feet by the back of his coat and shoves him into the room. He staggers toward the IV stand in the corner, one arm hanging useless from the shoulder wound.

He takes the IV stand and moves to Lana’s side, trembling, and begins to adjust the IV lines inside her veins. He changes bags, swaps tubing, and primes lines. He talks constantly, narrating each step, naming every drug, every dosage.

Rio stands at the foot of the bench, eyes turning between Lana’s face and the assistant’s hands. His finger rests near the trigger the entire time.

Sol waits by the door, watching the corridor, gun drawn.

We let the assistant thread the reversal through her veins.

Lana’s breathing shifts first.

It deepens slowly, moves from shallow frantic pants to something a bit more regular. Her chest still rises too fast, but the rhythm steadies.

Her eyelids flutter. Her color changes from sickly gray to something with a hint of pink.

“Brox,” she says, her gaze settling on me. Then her eyes shift to Rio, and a small smile forms as she closes her eyes.

“Good,” the assistant mutters, more to himself than to us. “Her system responds. That’s good.”

He hangs the last bag of counter-agent and steps back, wiping his forehead with his good hand. His wounded shoulder still bleeds sluggishly through his fingers.

“Now we wait,” he says. “She should be better within a few minutes.”

I check his face. No obvious deceit.

Lana’s hand clenches around nothing. Her lips move again.

I lean down.

“Lana,” I say quietly.

Her gaze tries to focus, swimming through the blear. For a second, she looks past me, seeing something that doesn’t exist in this room. Then her eyes lock on mine.

She tries to sit up. The straps hold her down. Panic floods her face. She yanks against the restraints, small body straining, wrists grinding against cuffs.

“Stop,” I say. “Stop, you’ll hurt yourself.”

She gasps, head whipping toward the sound.

“Lana,” I say again. “It’s me. Brox. You’re safe.”

Her gaze jumps to Rio. His face softens in a way I rarely see.

“You’re here,” she croaks. Her voice ragged.

“Yeah,” he says. “We’re here.”

Her attention snaps back to the IV in her arm. Her eyes widen more. She jerks again, chains clattering.

“Out,” she rasps. “Get it out. Get it out–”

I catch her hand gently, press it down.

“We will,” I say. “We just needed to get the antidote through first.”

She fights me for another second, then collapses back, chest heaving. Tears spill from the corners of her eyes, tracking through sweat.

“I told her I’d kill her,” she whispers. “I told her. She just laughed.”