The darkness clung to the lab like a living thing, punctuated only by the flickering red of emergency lights. My chest felt like it would burst from the tension pressing against it, every nerve screaming, every thought a war between fear, pride, and anger. Vordon’s hand found mine in the shadows, grounding me, but even his steady grip couldn’t hide the tremor in his jaw, the sharp edge of insecurity flashing in his blue eyes.
“Veronica,” he whispered, voice tight, low, almost a growl. “We can’t let him, Dante, control this. Not Phase Three, not Marcus, not anyone.”
I inhaled sharply, pushing down the rush of panic threatening to drown me. His fear was contagious, but beneath it, I felt pride. Pride in the fact that he cared, that he would fight beside me. But jealousy gnawed too, sharp a
