Gianna woke me with news that made my blood run cold.
"Three vials confirmed leaving the compound last night," she said, standing at the foot of my infirmary bed. "Two more this morning. The going rate has doubled since word spread about Sera Reyes."
I tried to sit up. Pain lanced through my broken ribs, my cracked arm, the dozen places where Gianna's fists had left their marks. The healers had done their work—I was alive, conscious, no longer bleeding—but my body was still a wreck.
"How?" I managed.
"The wolves I saw collecting it from the arena?"
Gianna's jaw tightened. "Middle-men. They sold to someone inside the compound, who sold to someone outside. By now, your blood is probably in three different cities."
I stared at her, trying to process what she was saying. My blood. Being
