I don’t care about the glass or the armed guards.
Inside it is Callum. My baby.
His tiny body is wrapped in a sterile white blanket, golden sparks flickering desperately across his skin as his fragile lungs fight the chemicals pumping through the vents.
My heart breaks and ignites at once.
“No!” The scream rips from my throat. “Don’t you dare touch my son!”
Motherhood doesn’t hit me. It claims me like a second bite. Every instinct surges forward.
Touch him, and you die.
Elias stands between us, adjusting his glasses as if he were watching a routine lab experiment. His eyes shine with that sickening, clinical hunger as the agents bring Callum closer to the partition.
“Look at that reaction,” Elias murmurs. “Stronger than predicted.”
I stop hearing him.
The chains bite into my wr
