Not light.
A heartbeat.
Aiden’s face went empty in the way that meant his mind had understood something before the rest of us had found the courage to name it.
“This isn’t another room,” he said.
The doctor made a thin, broken sound.
Keres’s head turned toward her. “What is it?”
She shook her head.
Wrong answer.
Eden moved so fast the air cracked.
One second the doctor was standing by the computer. The next, Eden had her pinned against the wall beside the seam, claws at her throat, gold burning so bright the black-red pulse recoiled under the metal.
“What is it?” Eden asked.
The doctor cried harder. “It’s disposal.”
The word hit the room like a body dropped from a height.
Disposal.
Eden’s claws pressed deeper. “Explain.”
“I don’t know everything,” the doctor sobbed. “I swear
