Colby leaned against the wall, his massive frame dwarfing the dim office, one patched eye catching the flicker of Geras's desk lamp. His gray tank top strained against his chest, veins snaking thick along his arms. "Labs were a nightmare," he said, voice gravelly, like he'd swallowed grit. "After Silas tore Spock out, I was gone—heart flat, blood pooling. Woke up strapped to a table, tubes jabbing my chest, some doc yelling about soul energy. They pumped in this glowing shit—looked like molten glass, burned worse. Felt my veins frying, like they'd burst any second."
Elias shifted in the creaky chair, boots scuffing the black floor, shard pulsing faintly against his ribs. Geras sat behind the cluttered desk, files teetering, his gray undershirt taut as he rapped a knuckle on the wood. "Keep going," Geras said, voice low, sharp, eyes flicking between them.
