The doors slammed shut behind them with the sound of finality.
Trapped.
Alina spun, shielding her mother as Nicholas raised his weapon, aiming it squarely at Luther Deveraux’s smirking face.
“I’ll shoot,” Nicholas warned, voice steel.
Luther tilted his head, calm as sin. “You won’t. Because I’m the only one who can tell you what they did to her.”
Alina’s hand clenched tighter around her mother’s fragile fingers. “What the hell do you mean?”
“She’s not just a prisoner, Alina,” Luther said. “She’s a prototype. Your mother—Ophelia Vale—was the first successful subject of Project Red Lung. The serum in her blood? It’s what made you who you are.”
Nicholas flinched.
Alina’s blood turned to ice.
“You’re lying.”
Luther stepped forward. “Your mother volunteered. She was told she was going
