Page 11 of Glass Rose
“You’re not…” Not infected? Not dead? Not going to kill me? “I?—”
He’s across the room in three silent strides, hand clamping over my mouth. My back hits the wall harder, his body looming over mine, all lean muscle and radiating heat.
“Quiet.” His voice is a rough whisper, lips brushing my ear. “Unless you want to join your colleague.”
Movement flickers in my peripheral vision. Through the round window in the lab door, a figure shambles past—one of the infected, jaw hanging slack, dark fluid dripping from its mouth.
How did he know?
Subject 7’s grip tightens, forcing my gaze back to his face. His eyes are impossibly blue, clear. Present. Nothing like thevacant stares of the infected. He had survived injections that killed other test subjects within hours. His cellular structure had shown anomalous regenerative properties. But the reports never mentioned immunity. Just ‘inconclusive results’ and ‘further testing required.’
“Nod if you understand,” he murmurs.
I nod, pulse hammering so hard I swear he must hear it.
He slowly removes his hand but doesn’t step back. “You’re not screaming. Good start.”
“You’re—” My voice cracks. “You’re lucid. How? The virus?—”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Thanks to you and your colleagues’ dedicated efforts.”
I deserve his hatred. I’ve earned it with every injection I administered, every observation I recorded while he suffered. “I’m sorry.” What defense could possibly matter now?
“Nice to finally meet you, Dr. Cruz,” he says with a formality that’s absurd given our surroundings. “Though I imagined better circumstances.”
The PA system crackles to life overhead, making me jump. “Ten minutes until complete evacuation. All personnel must clear the facility. Decontamination protocols will commence in T-minus five minutes.”
“We need to move.” He stands, extending his hand. “Now. They’re coming this way.”
I stare at his outstretched palm, this one, covered in Dr. Brown’s blood and crisscrossed with scars from where restraints bit into his skin during procedures. I can’t make my body respond.
“Dr. Cruz.” His voice sharpens. “Sofia.”
My name on his lips jolts me. He knows my first name, too? I never told him that. He must have overheard it and stored it away during those endless months of captivity.
“Why help me at all? After what we did to you?—”
“If I wanted to kill you, I would have let him do the job.” He nods toward Dr. Brown’s body.
That’s reassuring. “But—Don’t you hate me?”
“We can discuss your guilt complex outside, not now.”
“I deserve?—”
“To live?” He bends down and throws me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. I shriek, the world tilting sickeningly as blood rushes to my head. “Maybe. Maybe not. Not my call to make right now.”
“Put me down!” I beat my fists against his back, but it’s like hitting concrete. “You can’t just?—”
“Shut up.” His grip tightens around my thighs. “Unless you want to attract more of them.”
I swallow my protests, catching shuffling sounds from the corridor outside. He navigates through the maze of corridors with the confidence of someone who’s studied the layout. Which makes no sense—he’s been locked up.
“How do you know where you’re going?” I ask, voice muffled against his back.
“I looked at the evacuation map.”
How is that—Is he superhuman now?
