Chapter 11 · Black Anchor

The crack under Mika's knees split wider, and the sound coming out of it wasn't rock. It was gears. Big ones, grinding, like something under the city had been asleep for years and just woke up angry.

"Get her up." Cade's voice came out through his teeth. He had one hand fisted in the back of her jacket, hauling, even though his own arm was shaking so bad he almost dropped her. "Mika, get up, now—"

"I can't." Her voice didn't sound like hers. Too thin. Too far away. "Cade, something's — it's in my arm, it's moving—"

The mark on her forearm wasn't just burning anymore. It was crawling. Black lines spreading up past her elbow, thin as wire, hot as a stovetop.

Anna's soldiers backed off the crack in a ragged line, guns still up but pointed at nothing now. One of them said, "Ma'am, we should fall back," and Anna didn't answer. She was staring at the gap in the ground like it owed her money.

"Anna." Cade got a knee under himself, dragging Mika half against his chest. "Whatever this is, call it off. Now."

"I can't call it off.