Sirens echoed far away, fading under the stink of fire and twisted metal. The street was wrecked, glass raining down in sharp glitter. Zara dragged Tammy into the shadow of a broken laundromat, blood slick on her palms.
"Stay awake," she hissed. "Don't you dare bail on me now."
Tammy's lashes fluttered. "Z… Zara?"
"Yeah, it's me. Just breathe."
Heavy boots pounded the pavement. Hybrids. She could feel them, rhythm all wrong, insect-sharp. Her veins lit hot. Silk itched under her skin like barbed wire trying to crawl out.
Zara eased Tammy down and slipped back into the street. The first hybrid turned the corner, mask cracked, mandibles twitching. It sniffed the air. Zara's hands shook.
The threads that spilled out weren't silver. They were black, gleaming like oil.
[Ability: Venom Threads]
She flicked her wrist. The line cinched the hybrid's throat. At first it fought. Then its legs buckled. The mandibles twitched once, twice, then went slack. The stink of rot hit her nose like spoiled meat.
Zara stared at the body. Her chest rose and fell. "Holy shit."
Another hybrid raised a gun. She blinked behind it, slammed an elbow into its visor, then flicked a black line across its wrist. The weapon clattered. Its scream died in its throat as venom crawled its veins.
Zara yanked both into the alley, cocooned them, and leaned close. "Talk. Or I'll peel you alive."
A broken voice rasped: "Ridgefield Terminal… Sublevel Four. Overseer Halberd."
"Thanks." She pinched the thread. The body went limp.
Her stomach twisted. The hunger purred like it liked this.
Back inside, Tammy groaned. Zara tore open a crusty first aid kit, pressed gauze to her head. Tammy's eyes locked on her. "You're bleeding too."
"Yeah. I look gorgeous."
Tammy coughed a weak laugh, then whispered, "I'm sorry, Zara. I told them things… thought they were cops. I didn't know."
Zara's jaw tightened. "Confess later. Right now, survive."
Her phone buzzed. Cracked screen lit up with an unknown number. A video started—grainy footage of a meat locker. Reed leaned into frame, half-burned, grinning.
"Miss me?"
He panned the camera. A man hung from a hook, trembling under a bag. Reed stroked it like a pet.
"This city's starving. I feed them a little serum, a little promise, and they chew through anything. You want it back? Come get it."
The screen cut to black. A single text popped up: Ridgefield Terminal. Midnight. Come alone.
Zara shoved the phone away, muttering, "Needy, meat-eating freak."
"Who was that?" Tammy asked.
"Nobody. Drink your water."
Zara slipped out the window onto the fire escape, staring at the city's sick glow. Project Z was real. Reed was worse. And her own veins pulsed black under her skin like the venom wanted out.
She blinked rooftop to rooftop, ribs screaming but her pace steady, until the Ridgefield Terminal loomed ahead—rusted cranes, floodlights, black vans waiting.
Zara crouched in the shadows. Silk slid through her fingers, staining the gravel black.
She whispered to herself, "Let's see who's really pulling the strings."
Then she vanished into the dark.