The deep medical lab at the Blackthorn Academy smells of crushed pine needles, damp earth, and the sharp, antiseptic tang of iodine. It is a smell that has become inextricably linked with survival.
Asher is asleep on the central examination table, his small chest rising and falling in a deep, rhythmic pattern. He is stripped to the waist, his skin pale and slick with a thin sheen of sweat. The physical toll of pruning the Hoh Rainforest anomaly is evident in the dark, bruised circles beneath his eyes and the slight tremor in his fingers, even in sleep.
Margot stands beside him, adjusting the IV drip that pumps a heavy cocktail of caloric supplements and neuro-protectants into his bloodstream. Her face is drawn, her silver-streaked hair escaping its bun, but her eyes are bright with clini
