Chapter 13 · The Cost of Cutting Ties

“Get your hands off her!”

Calder’s voice ripped through the room, but he was too late.

The doctor didn't even flinch. He jammed the needle deep into the side of my neck. Clinical. Precise. I didn't scream—I couldn't. The air vanished from my lungs, replaced by a searing, white-hot liquid that felt like molten lead pouring into my veins.

“Hold her still,” the doctor commanded. His voice was flat. Dead. “The catalyst needs to stabilize before the gate opens.”

Calder slammed into him. A blur of black leather and raw fury. He didn't use a spell; he used his fist. The crack of the doctor's jaw echoed against the metal walls of the archive.

I gasped, my chest heaving. The needle was still embedded in my skin, pulsing with a rhythmic, sickly glow.

“Lena! Look at me!”

Calder grabbed my shoulders, fingers digging into my skin. He was breathing hard, eyes searching mine with a desperation that looked like panic. “Stay with me. Don't let it take you.”

“It... burns...” I choked out. My tongue felt like a heavy piece of wet cardboard.

“I know. I know it does.”

He pressed his forehead against mine.