Chapter 11 · Chrome Backlash

"Don't touch me, Elara."

My voice came out rough enough to scrape my throat raw. I had one hand braced against the sewer wall and the other locked around my forearm. Under my skin, something hard kept moving.

Elara didn't listen. She stepped closer, boots splashing through the shallow runoff, and caught my wrist before I could pull away.

Her fingers were cold. Mine felt like a live wire.

"Hold still."

"That wasn't a suggestion."

"No, it wasn't."

A sharp pulse jumped beneath my skin. Silver lines flashed from my wrist toward my elbow. Elara's grip tightened, but she didn't flinch.

I did.

"Get your hand off me."

"If I let go, you'll tear the rest of that arm apart."

"You don't know that."

"I know exactly what it looks like when chrome starts replacing tissue."

Her eyes dropped to my arm. The emergency strip on her wrist terminal threw pale light across her face. She looked calm. Too calm.