Chapter 6 · Blood Signal

"Don't move a muscle, Prototype. Or I'll carve that pretty little gene-set right out of your spine."

The voice didn't sound human. It sounded like grinding metal filtered through a velvet curtain. I felt the cold press of a monofilament blade against my throat—thin enough to slice through my windpipe before I could even blink. I was pinned flat against the rusted corrugated wall of the refinery, my breath hitching in my chest.

"Get off her!" Pip screamed from my shoulder. The plush bear looked ridiculous, but his voice was vibrating with a frequency that made my teeth ache. He lunged forward, his small paws batting at the man's wrist, but the guy didn't even flinch.

"Shut the toy up," the man whispered. He leaned in closer. I could smell something clinical on him—ozone and expensive sterile soap, the kind they only use in the High Spire. His eyes were the worst part. Golden. Vertical slits. He wasn't just some corporate hitman; he was something *changed*.

"What do you want?" I managed to choke out. My heart was drumming against my ribs, a frantic, jagged rhythm. "I don't know what a prototype is. I'm just a courier.