Chapter 8 · Comfort That Shouldn't Happen

"Stop moving," Vivian whispered. Her fingers were cold, but her breath was hot against the skin of my neck. She didn't just touch me—she was searching. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the collar, the metal still humming with a low, sinister vibration that felt like a death sentence.

I jerked back, my spine hitting the rubble-strewn wall with a sickening thud. "What are you doing?"

"That sound," she said, her eyes narrowing. She didn't move away. Instead, she stepped closer, closing the gap until I could smell the ozone and vanilla on her skin. "The frequency. It's the same one the drones picked up from Fallstar during the downtown blackout. Why do you have a tracker on your neck, Tess?"

I choked on a laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. "I—I don't know what you're talking about. It's a medical device. For... chronic migraines. You know how stressful this city is."

Vivian didn't buy it. She never did. She reached out again, her hand hovering just an inch from my collarbone. The power dynamic shifted in a heartbeat.