Chapter 7 · Eyes in the Dark

"Don't move. Not a muscle," Vera hissed, her voice barely a vibration against my ear.

She had me pinned against the damp concrete wall of the ventilation shaft. The space was so tight I could feel the heat radiating off her body, the smell of ozone and cheap gunpowder clinging to her tactical gear. Her rifle was leveled at the gap in the grating, but her shoulder was pressed hard into my chest, keeping me anchored.

I didn't breathe. I couldn't. Not because of her, but because my lungs were still adjusting to the new graft—the sonar sacs pulsing in my neck. Every time they flared, I could 'see' the room below. Not with light, but with ripples of pressure.

Below us, three Farm Enforcers were sweeping the corridor. Their heavy boots made the metal floor groan.

"They're circling back," I rasped. My voice sounded like grinding gravel, a byproduct of the vocal cords I'd stolen from a scream-beast two deaths ago.

"Shut up," she whispered, her grip tightening on my arm. "I can't hear the rhythm if you're rattling like a broken radiator."

I glared at her.