Chapter 8 · The Echo in the Bone

"Stop fighting it, Hera. You’re just making the sync burn," Silas whispered, his voice a low vibration against the shell of my ear.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My wrists were pinned to the cold, brushed-steel surface of the diagnostic table by magnetic cuffs that hummed with a predatory hunger. Every time I tried to jerk away, the cuffs tightened, biting into my skin. Silas was leaned over me, his chest barely an inch from mine, the scent of expensive ozone and something metallic clinging to him.

"What is this?" I spat, my voice sounding wrecked. "You said the chip was for stability. This feels like a goddamn lobotomy."

Silas let out a soft, dark chuckle. He didn't pull back. Instead, he traced a finger down the line of my jaw, his touch light but possessive, like he was marking territory. "Stability is boring. I want integration. I want to see what’s hiding behind those redacted walls in your head."

"Go to hell," I snapped, trying to headbutt him.

He caught my forehead with the palm of his hand, effortless, and pressed me back down. The power difference was a physical weight in the room, suffocating and absolute.