Chapter 7 · Cut This Damn Gear Off

"Hold still, or I’ll take your finger with it," Jax snapped, his voice tight. He gripped Elise’s wrist, pulling her arm flat against the scarred workbench.

"Just do it," Elise hissed. She was pale, her breathing shallow. "Get this thing off me before I lose my mind. I can feel it... humming. It's like it's eating into my bone."

Jax didn't answer. He couldn't. He was too busy staring at the living gear embedded in the skin of her forearm. It wasn't just a curse; it was a piece of clockwork horror. The brass teeth were rotating slowly, grinding against her flesh, weaving itself into her veins. Every time he moved his own chest—where the twin gear sat—her wrist pulsed in a sickening, synchronized rhythm.

He picked up the plasma cutter. The tool hummed, a thin, violent blue needle of heat spitting from the tip.

"You're shaking," Elise noted. Her eyes flickered up to his, sharp even through the pain. "A rust-rat who can't hold a torch. Great. I'm relying on a street kid to perform surgery."

"Shut up," Jax muttered. "I'm not shaking. I'm calculating."

"Calculating what?