Page 30 of Reckless: Corruption

As consciousness fades, I hear her humming what sounds like a lullaby. It might be comforting if I didn’t recognize it as the same tune she was humming when she electrocuted our brother.

The fever pulls me under in waves of green and memory?—

My mother’s hands, strong despite their shaking, packing a single bag.“Sometimes running is the bravest thing you can do,”she whispers, though I wouldn’t understand for years.

Mona’s fingers arranging candy like battle plans, building weapons from sugar and spite. Another Sterling woman turning survival into art.

The pack’s scent lingering in my clothes, four different kinds of protection I never thought I’d need. Never thought I’d miss like missing limbs.

My dreams taste like cherry medicine and possibility, like my mother’s last lullaby and Mona’s manufactured chaos. I’m not sure which is more dangerous—the virus in my blood or the hope that someone’s finally found a way to turn Sterling precision against itself.

Chapter 8

Cayenne

“Wake up.I’ve scheduled seven different catastrophic failures for the next twelve minutes. Very precise. Color-coded. Also, I may have filled the security office with bees. For science.”

Mona’s voice cuts through fever dreams like one of Alexander’s knives. My body wages war with itself—skin crackling like static electricity one moment, plunging into ice the next. Roman’s virus slithers through my blood like sentient poison, each cell a battlefield where his formula tries to unmake what I am. The fever paints the world in watercolor smears, reality bleeding at the edges like a corrupted file.

“Bees?” I manage, tongue feeling thick and clumsy.

“European honey bees. Very docile usually. Less so when agitated by specific sound frequencies.” She helps me sit up with surprising gentleness. “The security team is having a very exciting morning. Much running. Very unprofessional.”

The room spins as I try to focus. “You orchestrated a bee attack?”

“Obviously. Bees are very mathematical creatures. Sacred geometry and all that.” She checks my pulse with mechanical precision. “Also, I needed the guards to evacuate that section atexactly 0600. The bees were very cooperative about the timing. I have charts.”

An alarm starts wailing somewhere in the distance. Then another. And another.

“That would be the ventilation system failing in the east wing,” Mona narrates, producing a syringe filled with clear liquid. “Followed by mysterious temperature fluctuations in the server room. Very unfortunate. Much technological disappointment.”

The needle slides home before I can protest. Whatever she’s giving me cuts through the fever fog like arctic wind. My fingertips tingle with sudden clarity, the static in my head clearing enough to process what’s happening—my sister, Sterling’s omega experiment, is orchestrating my escape. The sister I didn’t know existed until days ago is risking everything to save me.

“Amphetamine blend,” she explains, disposing of the evidence with practiced ease. “My own recipe. Very precise dosage. Should give you about twenty minutes of functional clarity before the virus reasserts dominance.”

“Twenty minutes isn’t long.”

“No.” For once, her voice carries no artificial whimsy. “But it’s exactly how long we need. I have calculations. Many calculations. Also candy.” She produces a lollipop from somewhere. “Sugar helps with cellular regeneration. Probably. I haven’t done that study yet.”

Another alarm joins the chorus. Through the walls, I hear shouting. Running feet. Chaos building like a symphony.

“Right on schedule.” Mona checks her Hello Kitty watch. “Now, when I say run, you run. When I say hide, you hide. And when I say duck—” A small smile plays at her lips. “Well, that’s when things get really interesting.”

A distant explosion rocks the facility. The vibration sends fresh pain shooting through my stab wounds, but the fog in my mind stays razor sharp. Whatever Mona gave me, it works.

“That would be the hydrogen peroxide meeting the potassium iodide in the chemistry lab,” she says, helping me to my feet. “Very dramatic. Lots of pretty purple smoke. Also highly corrosive to certain security systems. What a tragic accident.”

My legs feel like they’re made of static electricity, but they hold. “How many accidents did you plan?”

“Define plan.” She peers into the hallway. “Some things just happen. Like spontaneous electrical fires. Or mysterious bee infestations. Or that unfortunate incident with the nitrogen cooling system that’s about to occur in approximately forty-seven seconds.”

On cue, emergency lights start flashing. A computerized voice announces system failures in three different sectors.

“Timing is everything,” Mona muses, pulling me into the corridor. “Also mathematics. Mostly mathematics. The chaos is just window dressing.”

We move through the facility like ghosts, each turn precisely timed to avoid the guards rushing to contain Mona’s calculated disasters. Behind us, more alarms join the chorus. Ahead, shadows dance with emergency lighting, creating a strobe-effect nightmare of red and darkness.

My vision tunnels suddenly, the virus surging against Mona’s amphetamine cocktail. The world tilts sickeningly as my muscles lock and release in rapid sequence. My knees buckle, forcing Mona to catch me before I hit the floor. The virus is adapting, learning to fight back against the temporary clarity.

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