Helena shot to her feet as she heard the gear begin moving again, grinding slowly, as if the lock were being picked.
She fumbled for her satchel, digging for her knife. As her fingers wrapped around the hilt, the door swung inward. A stripe of red ran down the centre of it, topped with a scarlet handprint.
Ferron stood, swaying in the doorway.
His face deathly pale, his eyes out of focus.
The knife slipped from her fingers. “What happened?”
He looked at her as if confused to find her there. “Ss-nothing.” He waved her off with his right hand as he got clear of the door, more blood spattering on the floor. There was a trail running down the hallway.
“You’re…you’re injured?” It was half a question. She didn’t know he could be injured. Wasn’t he supposed to be instantly regenerative? How
