Chapter 15 · The Forbidden Touch

"You cut wrong," the patient rasped.

His voice didn't sound like a man's anymore. It sounded like a dozen people screaming underwater, layered and distorted. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes clouded with that oily, ink-black sheen, and the black crystal he'd just coughed up rattled on the metal tray.

Mira froze, her scalpel still hovering an inch above the open incision. "What do you mean I cut wrong? I hit the mass. I removed the obstruction."

"Not the mass," the man whispered, a wet, rattling sound. "The seed. You left the seed."

"Mira, get back from him," Silas’s voice snapped.

He didn't just speak; he moved. In one blur of motion, Silas grabbed Mira’s wrist, his grip like a steel cuff. He yanked her backward, nearly throwing her off her feet. The scalpel clattered to the floor.

"Let go of me!" Mira snarled, twisting her arm. "He’s talking! He knows something about the infection that isn't in the texts!"

Silas didn't loosen his hold. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing her shoulder. He smelled of old leather and something sharp—like ozone before a storm.