POV RUBY
The alarm for the self-destruct sequence was a visceral, rhythmic thumping that vibrated through the marrow ofmy bones. Red emergency lights bathed the medical bay in a flickering hue of dried blood. Water was no longer justleaking; it was jetting through the seams of the bulkhead, the pressure turning the spray into razor-sharp needles ofice.
"Nevan, we have to move!" I shouted over the roar of thedying base.
Nevan stood by the operating table, his chest heaving. Theblack veins of the serum were still visible beneath the skin of his neck, pulsing in time with the sirens. He looked at his hands—the hands that had nearly crushed my throat—and then at me. The obsession in his gaze was back, but itwas fractured, shadowed by the horror of what he hadalmost done.
"Go, Ruby," he ras
