Page 93 of Glass Rose
He sits up, sheets pooling around his waist, eyes scanning my face like I’m a puzzle with missing pieces. “That’s not possible.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes. “Maybe I hallucinated. Oxygen deprivation or extreme stress or?—”
“Or the virus responds to verbal commands. Like it was designed to.”
My hands fall away. “Compliance.”
Our eyes lock.
BC-7’s original purpose was never a weapon but a tool—a way to make subjects more obedient. What if it didn’t entirely fail?
“We need to test this.” I swing my legs over the bed, but the room tilts violently.
Gavin’s hand steadies me. “Whoa. Not today you don’t.”
“But if I’m right?—”
“If you’re right, the infected will still be infected tomorrow.” His fingers curl around my bicep. “You need to recover first.”
“People are dying while?—”
“And you almost joined them.” His voice sharpens. “You think I pulled you half-dead from that water just so you could kill yourself trying to talk to zombies?”
He’s right…
I run a hand throughmy tangled hair, grimacing at how it feels against my fingers. Greasy. “I need a shower. I feel disgusting.”
“You’re not?—”
“I can still taste that water.” I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the room’s warmth.
Before I can take another step, he’s up and bends me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
“What the—” I pound his back with my fists. “Put me down!”
“That’s the plan.” His hand roams up my thigh as he carries me across the room into an adjoining bathroom.
The space is small but clean, with white tiles, a glass shower stall, a toilet, and a single sink.
He sets me on my feet, keeping his hands on my waist until I’m steady. “Better?”
My cheeks burn. “I could’ve walked.”
“Could’ve.” His fingers find the hem of my shirt. “Arms up.”
I hesitate, then do as he tells me. The shirt slides over my head, his knuckles grazing my ribs, and goosebumps scatter across my bare chest.
“You’re shivering.” His voice drops lower.
“I’m fine.”
He kneels, working my borrowed sweatpants down my legs. “Step.”
I grip his shoulders for balance and obey.
His breath ghosts across my stomach and my thighs as his fingers dig into the flesh of my hips.
I cup his cheek, making him look up to me. “What’s wrong?”
