Page 28 of Reckless: Corruption

Theo at his piano, drawing music from chaos just like my sister draws order from candy wrappers and violence.

My body burns with Roman’s progress, but my mind fills with my mother’s last song—the one she played the night we moved from one town to another, her fingers steady even as tears fell. I never understood why she chose that particular melody until now. It wasn’t a goodbye. It was a warning.

The green fire consumes everything except the taste of cherry cough syrup turning to ash on my tongue.

Consciousness returns in fragments, each piece sharper than the last. My blood feels like acid, like someone replaced my veins with molten glass. Through the haze of fever and whatever Roman injected, I hear voices arguing.

“—completely compromised the experiment. Your emotional involvement?—”

“Emotional? Me? Daddy, I’m hurt. Also bored. But mostly hurt.”

“The infection requires treatment.”

“Obviously. I have eyes. And a medical degree. Which you paid for. Very expensive. Much gratitude.”

My eyes won’t focus, but I’d know Mona’s deadpan delivery anywhere. She’s talking faster than usual, a tell I didn’t realize she had until now.

“Your sister’s genetic structure?—”

“Half-sister,” Mona corrects with artificial brightness. “Very important distinction. Vital, really. Like antibiotics. Speaking of which...”

Something clatters. Papers rustling. Roman’s sigh carries the weight of years dealing with Mona’s particular brand of chaos.

“Fine. Treat the infection. But no interference with Protocol Seven. Am I clear?”

“Crystal. Like that vase I broke last week. Complete accident. Totally not because the alpha you invited to dinner tried to scent mark me.”

Footsteps retreat. A door closes. Then cool hands press against my forehead, surprisingly gentle.

“He’s gone. You can stop pretending to be unconscious now.”

I crack one eye open. “Wasn’t pretending.”

“Liar.” But there’s something almost like concern in her voice as she checks my pulse. “Your heart’s racing. Probably the virus. Or the fever. Or that thing you’re doing where you don’t trust me now. Very inconvenient timing for trust issues, by the way.”

“Mona—”

“Shut up and let me think.” She starts pacing, unwrapping a lollipop with sharp, agitated movements. “The virus is designed to target beta genetic markers. Very specific. Extremely unstable. Probably going to kill you.” She pauses. “Unless...”

“Unless what?”

Her smile carries edges sharp enough to cut. “Unless someone’s been sabotaging daddy’s research for years. Hypothetically. Through careful application of candy-related chaos and extremely precise mathematical errors.”

Hope feels dangerous right now, but I can’t help asking, “Have you?”

“Obviously.” She rolls her eyes. “What kind of psychotic omega genius would I be if I didn’t have contingency plans? I have spreadsheets. Color-coded. Very organized.”

The room spins as another wave of fire courses through my veins. “Why help me?”

“Because daddy’s perfect little experiment needs to fail spectacularly.” She produces a syringe filled with clear liquid. “Also, you’re moderately less boring than most people. And you appreciate my artistic approach to pack rejection. Now hold still. This might hurt.”

“Might?”

“Will. Definitely will. But probably less than the virus currently trying to rewrite your genetic code.” She finds a vein with practiced ease. “Consider it character building. Very educational.”

As the needle slides home, I grab her wrist. “The others. The ones you helped before. Are they really safe?”

For a moment, her mask slips. Something real and fierce shows through. “Safer than here. Underground network. Very elaborate. Excellent candy supply chain.” She meets my eyes. “I don’t save people, Cayenne. I just give them the tools to save themselves.”

---