"Sit still, or I'll accidentally slip and cut a vein," Sloane snapped.
She didn't look up from the makeshift surgical kit spread across the grimy clinic table. Her fingers were shaking, but her voice was pure corporate ice.
Kael didn't sit still. He gripped her wrist, his fingers digging into the soft skin. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Who the hell are you? And why do I feel your heart hammering against my own ribs?"
Sloane jerked her arm back, nearly knocking over a tray of sterile gauze. "It's called a soul-link, you idiot. My father's little experiment. Now shut up and let me patch the hole in your gut before you bleed out on my favorite boots."
Kael let out a harsh, dry laugh that turned into a cough, spraying a fleck of blood on the white tile. He looked down at the jagged wound in his side—a gift from the corporate strike team. He could feel the heat of it, but there was something else. A phantom ache. A sharp, stabbing pressure in his own chest that didn't belong to him.
"You're lying," Kael hissed. He lunged forward, pinning her against the edge of the metal table. The cold steel groaned under her weight. He didn't let go of her wrist, twisting it just enough to let her know he could snap it if he wanted to. "You're a spoiled brat from the Spire. You don't do 'experiments.' You do shopping trips and daddy's credit cards."
Sloane didn't flinch. She looked him dead in the eye, her pupils blown wide. "I'm the one with the encryption key to the safehouse. I'm the one who just dragged your half-dead ass out of a dumpster. And right now, I'm the only reason your heart is still beating. So maybe stop playing the big bad weapon for five seconds and let me work."
Kael narrowed his eyes. He could smell her perfume—expensive jasmine and something sharp, like ozone. It was out of place in this rot-filled slum. He shifted his weight, pressing his chest closer to hers. The air between them vanished. He could feel the rapid-fire thrum of her pulse through her skin. It was erratic. Terrified.
"What do you want with me?" he whispered. "I'm a ghost. A glitch. My creators deleted me. Why pull me back?"
"Because I need a monster," she breathed, her voice losing its edge for a split second. "And you're the meanest one they ever made."
Before he could respond, a sudden, violent surge of agony ripped through Kael's nervous system. It wasn't from his wound. It was a white-hot flash of electricity, a scream of nerves that didn't originate in his own body. He gasped, his grip loosening, and he collapsed back against the wall, clutching his chest.
Sloane gasped, her body jerking violently. She slammed into the table, a tray of instruments clattering to the floor with a deafening crash.
"What... what was that?" Kael wheezed, his vision blurring.
Sloane was panting, her face pale, sweat beading on her forehead. She looked at the door, then back at him. "The perimeter alarm. Someone just tripped the shock-wire at the entrance. I... I felt it. And you felt it too."
Kael forced himself up, the pain in his side screaming. He grabbed the nearest scalpel from the table and stepped toward her. "You're a liability. You're leaking your pain into me like a broken pipe. If you can't control this link, I'm leaving you here for them."
Sloane glared at him, though she was still trembling. "I can't 'control' it! It's a two-way street, Kael. If I die, you probably go with me. Now get your knife and get to the door."
He didn't move immediately. He watched her. She was trying to stand, her legs wobbling. She looked fragile, but there was a stubbornness in her jaw that reminded him of the soldiers he'd been trained to kill. He reached out, not to help her, but to grab the collar of her jacket, hauling her up so they were eye-to-eye again.
"If we survive this," Kael said, his voice a low growl, "I'm finding the man who did this to us. And I'm starting with whoever gave you that key."
"Deal," she whispered. "Just don't get blood on the upholstery."
They moved toward the clinic's narrow hallway, stepping over piles of discarded medical waste. Every time Sloane's foot hit the floor too hard, Kael felt a ghost-thump in his own leg. It was maddening. It was intimate. It felt like someone had crawled inside his skin and was rearranging the furniture.
As they reached the heavy steel door, the sound of boots echoed from the corridor outside. Not one pair. A squad. The rhythmic, heavy stomp of corporate enforcers.
"Hide," Sloane whispered, pulling him into the shadows of a recessed alcove.
Kael didn't hide. He stepped out, the scalpel gripped tight, his body coiled like a spring. He watched the door. The lock hissed, the security seal breaking with a sharp pop.
Suddenly, the clinic's wall-mounted monitors flickered. Every single screen—ten of them, cracked and yellowed—snapped to a single image.
It was a man. Middle-aged, wearing a suit that cost more than the entire district. His face was a mask of cold, calculated disappointment. Victor.
"Sloane," the voice boomed through the cheap speakers, distorted but unmistakable. "I know you're there. I know you've found the stray dog."
Sloane froze beside Kael, her breath hitching. Kael felt her fear spike—a cold, drowning sensation that wrapped around his lungs.
"You have ten minutes," Victor continued, his eyes seeming to stare right through the screen and into their souls. "Bring back my daughter, and I might let you keep your limbs. But the weapon? The weapon comes back in pieces. I want it dismantled, part by part, until there's nothing left but a heap of scrap metal."
Kael felt a dark smirk tug at his lips. "He sounds like he misses me," he whispered to Sloane.
"He doesn't miss you," she replied, her voice trembling. "He wants to erase you. Again."
Victor's image shifted. He leaned closer to the camera, his expression hardening. "The link is unstable, Sloane. If you don't return, I'll trigger the feedback loop. I won't just kill you. I'll make you feel every single second of the weapon's death, over and over, until your mind snaps."
The screen went black. The silence that followed was heavier than the noise.
Kael turned to Sloane. She was staring at the blank monitor, her eyes wide with a terror he could feel pulsing in his own veins. He stepped closer, his hand hovering just inches from her shoulder, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat radiating off her.
"So," Kael said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "Your daddy wants us both dead. You still think you're the one in charge here?"
Sloane looked up at him, a spark of defiance returning to her gaze. "I'm the only one who knows how to get us out of this city alive."
"Then start walking," Kael said, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the back exit. "Before he decides to turn the lights off."
Just as they reached the door, a heavy thud echoed from the ceiling. A breach charge.
Kael slammed Sloane against the wall, shielding her with his body as the ceiling exploded in a shower of concrete and fire. Through the dust and smoke, a figure descended on a cable, boots slamming into the floor with a bone-shaking impact.
It was the squad leader, his visor glowing red in the dim light. He didn't fire. He just stood there, looking at them, then tilted his head.
"Well, well," the soldier's voice crackled through the comms. "The dead weapon just bonded with the heir. The Boss is going to love this."
He raised his weapon, but before he could pull the trigger, Kael felt a sudden, violent surge of power from Sloane—not fear, but something sharp, something electric.
"Run!" she screamed, and as she did, the lights in the clinic didn't just flicker—they exploded.