Chapter 15 · Blood For Sale

"How much?"

That was the first thing the man said. He didn't look at me. He looked at Rook, who was slumped against the rusted metal of the workbench, her skin a ghostly, translucent grey. He was a Jacker—one of those bottom-feeding chrome scavengers who smelled like burnt ozone and cheap synth-gin. He had a scanner in his hand, and the red light was dancing over Rook’s neck, searching for the gene-port.

"Back off," I snapped. I stepped between them, my boots crunching on broken glass. My arm was still humming, a low-frequency vibration that felt like a swarm of bees living under my skin. The Gene-Eater chip was still settling, and every time I breathed, I could taste copper and static.

"I'm asking the price, kid," the Jacker sneered. He finally looked at me, his eyes replaced by mismatched, flickering optics. "She’s a high-grade specimen. That blood? That’s not street-trash. That’s Corp-tier. You sell her to me, and you walk away with enough credits to buy a new life. Or at least a new pair of lungs."

I felt Rook stir behind me. She didn't move much, just a shallow breath that hitched in her throat.