Twenty-Six

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The Titanium net infusion process is one for horror films.

It's a balancing act to keep the titanium hot enough to remain liquid while it spreads while simultaneously keeping Gatlin from boiling alive both inside and outside. As I watch the nanites work, his mouth stretches open in a soundless scream. Even with the high doses of sedatives running through his veins. There's nothing to keep the visceral reaction to your skin being scrapped from the inside away from the pain receptors.

Along his skin, indentions creep along at a snail's pace. Carefully, Iris monitors his vitals while driving the nanites to the most vulnerable places via a carefully constructed internal map of his body. If he's attacked while this process happens, the titanium will take only a few seconds to go from scorching to cool.

But, Ryker's words haunt my mind.

Genetically enhanced?

It explains many things about Gatlin: how he knew what to say to get me moving after my augmentation, how he moved with strength and prowess most normal people don't possess, and how he seemed to anticipate threats. Shivering, I glance back at the rotating model of his DNA. Iris was kind enough to light up the anomalies to make things easier, but I wish she'd remove it away from my sight.

Why hide this? I explained how precarious this process is. I told the truth, explaining in layman's terms exactly what he could expect.

How in the last few months did he forget he was enhanced? Rolling my lips inward, I bite down on them as hard as I can to keep the tears at bay. Was Catrina right?

Did he intentionally insert himself into my life to get this augmentation? Could it be he was putting on an act? Every time my heart thuds in my chest, it's a painful thing.

I don't want to think these things. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to hold this doubt, but what other choice do I have?

The truth is before me in a myriad of holographic watercolors. He's different. And not just different like me, maybe different better than me.

Truthfully, I've only dabbled in genetic modification. The applications, though numerous, were just as—if not more—risky than the augmentation. And I sent him in completely blind to the changes.

There's no way to predict how his body will react once the operation is complete. It could kill him. And it would be my fault.

"Stop blaming yourself." I turn to find Ryker standing at the entrance of the operating room, a frown marring his features. "He didn't tell you, and if he dies, it's on him—not you."

"It's on me. I should have asked, or better yet, did more research. That's what I'm trained to do: research." Voice cracking, I can barely hold the tears at bay. "If he dies, part of it is because he didn't tell me, but the lion's share is me not verifying before beginning. I know better. Yet, I let my emotions get in the way."

Warmth slides down my cheeks in a turret of silent tears. I take a deep, grating breath, burying the overwhelming tornado of emotions clogging my throat. My eyes burn, eager to shed the tears they store.

"You care for him, Blue. No one's going to fault you for wanting something all your own."

Laughing, I wipe the escape tears away. "No one's going to give a rat's ass about how I felt. The hearings won't be about how I felt. They'll be around my blatant lack of foresight and care for human life."

"They do worse, and if they ever forget it, I'll be happy to remind them."

"Let's hope it doesn't go further than this room." I hope beyond hope he gets up and is as he was before. "He needs to be okay—I can't think of him not being okay."

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