Chapter 8 · Three Short, One Long

"That's not mine." Levi's voice came out flat, too flat, the kind of flat a man uses when he's already doing math in his head. His grip on my wrist didn't loosen. If anything it got tighter, nails biting the tendon.

"Didn't say it was." I kept my hand on the gauze roll, on the wound, on him. The second alarm kept screaming, a different pitch than the one on our wrists, higher, meaner, coming from somewhere down the corridor past the cage door that wasn't opening for either of us. "But it's close. And it's not Central calling back either."

"Compliance killed the line." Levi's jaw worked. Sweat had cut a track through the dust on his temple, down past the cut I'd been dressing, mixing pink at the collar of his shirt. "That doesn't mean somebody else gets to run this room."

"Somebody already is." I pulled the wrap tighter across his ribs. On purpose. Not gentle.