Chapter 7 · A Childhood on Loan

"Do not put that in me."

Nora's cut palm hovered an inch from Samuel's chest. Blood dripped between her fingers—her blood, the kind that had just stitched a hunting machine back together.

Samuel caught her wrist. His grip was weak. His other hand stayed clamped over the torn plates at his shoulder, where blood pushed through the gaps and tapped onto the stones.

Too fast.

Way too fast.

"I was checking the wound," she said.

"You were about to improvise."

"You're bleeding out. Improvising is where we are."

Behind them, six metal legs scraped against the floor.

Nora spun.

The royal hound lowered its head. Fresh brass covered the places where its body had been split open. Its empty core chamber glowed behind the ribs now, red-gold light pulsing in time with the ache in Nora's chest.

"Prime Engine," it said again.

The voice came through a cracked speaker. Too deep. Too calm.

Tarin had backed all the way to the opposite wall. He held an empty memory bottle like he meant to stab the machine with it.

Nora pointed at Samuel. "Help him."

The hound stood.

Tarin raised the bottle. "That was not a good idea.