The smell was the first thing that broke me.
It wasn't the ozone of the lab or the pine of the forest. It was the smell of antiseptic, floor wax, and something stale—like air that had been breathed by too many people and filtered through too many machines. It was a flat, dead smell.
I tried to draw a breath, but my lungs felt like they were made of rusted iron. Every pocket of air I pulled in was a struggle, a sharp, burning reminder that I was no longer a creature of fire and light. I was a girl. A fragile, twenty-something girl with muscles that had turned to water and skin that felt paper-thin.
"Subject... 01... moving..."
The voice was muffled, as if I were underwater. I turned my head—a movement that cost me more effort than slaying a Sentinel—and saw a man.
He wasn't wearing gol
