Chapter 17 · Ghost in the Machine

"Move it or lose a finger," I snarled, though it came out as a wet, guttural hiss. I didn't have fingers anymore—not human ones—but the threat worked. The scavenger I'd pinned against the server rack scrambled back, tripping over a mess of fiber-optic cables.

I didn't give him a second glance. My focus was the terminal. The chip I’d eaten after ripping off that damn collar was humming in my skull, a cold, electric itch that felt like needles behind my eyes. I slammed my clawed hand onto the keyboard. It wasn't a clean interface—my digits were too thick, too jagged—but the system didn't need a password. It needed a signature. My signature.

*Access Granted.*

The screen flickered, a flood of raw data streaming past. I wasn't looking for files. I was looking for Vera.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" a voice crackled over the intercom. It was sharp, commanding.

I froze, my head snapping toward the ceiling speaker. "Who's this?"

"Someone who knows exactly what kind of freak you are," the voice replied. "You're not supposed to be in the hub, 402. You're supposed to be in a vat, waiting for the harvest.