Chapter 6 · Her Blood's The Fix

"Stop shaking, or I'm going to accidentally nick an artery," Old Smokes grunted, his voice like gravel in a blender.

He had Rook pinned to the rusted surgical table, a heavy-duty restraint strap biting into her wrist. I stood two feet away, my chest heaving, my left eye pulsing with a rhythmic, violet light that wouldn't quit. Every time it flashed, the Gene-Eater chip in my skull screamed. It wasn't a sound—it was a hunger. A physical, starving void that made my teeth ache.

"I'm not shaking," Rook spat, though her voice was thin. She looked at me, her eyes sharp and full of hate despite the pallor of her skin. "I'm vibrating with the urge to kill you the second I can move my arm."

"Cut the chatter," Smokes snapped. He slid the needle into her vein with a practiced flick.

I stepped closer. I couldn't help it. The moment the needle pierced her skin, the air between us seemed to thicken. I could smell her—not just the sterile scent of the clinic, but something underneath. Ozone and burnt sugar. The smell of a stabilizer.