The Last Three Vials

Chapter 2 The Broken Oath

Dr. Alistair ran the medical labs and logged every dose, sample, and discarded needle. If my vials had moved, his records would show whose hand moved them.

He stood under the main laboratory's fluorescent lights, already pale. When I came through the door, he flinched and glanced toward the corridor behind me.

“The antidote.” I braced a hand on the steel counter.

His hands shook over the tablet. After two failed swipes, he turned the screen toward me. “Madre, I had no choice. The order came from the Don himself.”

A transfer log filled the screen.

*Recipient: Serena Rossi.*

*Item: Antidote, Neurotoxin Series-7 (3 Vials).*

*Reason for Transfer: Acute Allergic Reaction.*

*Authorizing Signature: Kaelen Romano.*

Acute allergic reaction. Those vials had taken three months of lab work and more money than most governments could spend.

The formula was calibrated to my blood. It would do nothing for Serena's rash, yet Kaelen had released all three vials to her.

“He knows that's my entire monthly supply.”

The lab doors opened before Alistair could answer. Kaelen stopped in front of me, and the doctor backed into the counter.

“Serena is fragile. Her skin was blistering. She needed it.” Kaelen stepped close enough to block the laboratory light. “You're strong, Elara. You can endure for a few days.”

Five years earlier, in this same room, he had held me through the poison's first attack. The convulsions had nearly thrown us both from the narrow bed.

He pressed his face into my hair, and his tears soaked through it. *“I will burn this world to the ground before I let you suffer again, Elara. I swear it.”*

Now he expected me to endure it.

His expression hardened when I said nothing.

“Go to Serena. Apologize for whatever you did to upset her. If she believes you, I'll authorize Alistair to begin your next dose.”

He walked out before I could answer.

As soon as the doors shut, a cough folded me over the sink. Alistair caught my shoulder before I hit the steel counter.

Dark blood struck the white basin and clung there when I turned on the water.

Black blood. The final stage.

My communicator gave the sharp, rapid signal I hadn't heard in years: Priority Zero. An agent was dying.

I pulled it from my hip and read the ID code.

Victor had trained me and patched my first gunshot wound. He was the closest thing I had to a father.

His vitals were dropping toward a flatline.