I thought of the man who’d made love to me just hours ago. The man who had fought through years of conditioning to feel something real again. Who had taken a bullet meant for me.
“What would you do?” I asked Specter. “If it was someone you… cared about?”
Something vulnerable passed across his face—a look of confusion followed by pain. “I don’t remember caring about anyone.” He looked down at Reaper, then back at me. “But I remember wanting someone to try. To help me.” His voice dropped. “I would want someone to try.”
There was no choice. No real decision. Only desperation.
I took the syringe from Specter’s hand, removed the cap, and found a vein in Reaper’s arm that wasn’t yet blackened by the spreading toxin. With one last prayer to whatever god might be listening, I slid the needle into his skin and pressed the plunger, watching the milky substance disappear into his bloodstream.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then everything happened at once.
His body went rigid—more rigid than before, if that was possible. His back arched off the bed, jaw clenched so tight I heard a tooth crack. A guttural sound escaped his throat, primal and agonized.Fuck.Had I made the wrong choice? My hands shook as I stared at him, but I didn’t dare step closer, as if one wrong move would somehow only shatter him further.
“Is this normal?” I asked, panic rising in my voice.
Specter leaned closer, watching intently. “I’ve never seen it used like this. Neither has anyone.” His voice held a hint of fascination beneath the concern.
Reaper’s convulsions intensified, then abruptly ceased. His body dropped back to the mattress like a puppet with cut strings. The blue-black lines pulsing beneath his skin seemed to slow their advance, though they didn’t recede.
“Now we wait,” Specter said, checking Reaper’s pulse again.
I collapsed into the chair beside the bed, exhaustion and fear catching up to me. “Brock called before you arrived. He said that if I don’t bring Reaper, he will kill my brother.” Even if I managed to save Reaper…how would I save my brother? My eyes welled up, heart pounding inside my chest. With one problem somewhat handled, my focus shifted to Xavier. Specter’s shoulders tensed, and something dark flashed across his face—a shadow of anger or memory. “He showed me video proof.” My voice cracked. “He said if I don’t deliver Reaper to him within two hours, he’ll kill Xavier. Execute him on video and send me the footage.”
“Brock isn’t one for empty threats.” Specter’s voice hardened, eyes fixed on something I couldn’t see. “He enjoys demonstrating his power too much to bluff about using it.”
I buried my face in my hands, trying to think through the fog of exhaustion and fear. “I have to meet him.”
“That would be a mistake.” Specter’s voice sharpened. “You’re walking into a trap with no escape.”
“I don’t have a choice!” I snapped, looking up at him. “My brother is all I have left.”
“You have more than you think.” Something almost human flashed in Specter’s eyes. “Brock doesn’t negotiate releases—he only acquires assets. He’s playing you to get both of you. Once he has you, there’s no getting out. You will not save your brother. You’ll only end up in the same boat as him.”
He moved to the window, his movements eerily silent. He parted the curtain slightly, scanning the street below. “The recovery odds after capture are almost nonexistent. Your brother’s already gone through initial conditioning. You’d be next.”
“I have to try.” I stood, gathering my meager belongings. “I won’t let Xavier die because of me.”
Specter watched me, something calculating but not entirely cold in his silver eyes. I could almost see the tactical assessments running through his mind, alongside something more complex—perhaps a memory of his own captivity.
“Where is the meeting?” he finally asked.
“Vila Madalena. In front of some café.” I checked my phone.
His eyebrows rose slightly, the first natural expression I’d seen. “Public location? That’s… not standard protocol.” He frowned. “Multiple extraction points, high civilian presence. It’s either tactically brilliant or a serious deviation from procedure.”
“Is that good or bad?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, and for a moment he seemed almost vulnerable in his uncertainty. “It could be a trapwithin a trap, or…” He paused. “Or someone’s improvising. Either way, it’s dangerous.”
He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he pulled the metal case toward him and held out another syringe. “This might protect you if they try to drug you with the same compound. And they will, from what you said.”
I stared at the syringe. “What will it do?”
“It may create temporary resistance to the initial conditioning compounds.” He held it out. “I suggest you inject it before the meeting.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “What are the side effects?”
