Never a good word for a doctor to utter.
"What the hell doesfascinatingmean?" Nikolai snaps, moving closer to the screen.
Plague joins the doctor, studying the display. "She has a unique neural networking structure," he remarks. "I've never seen anything quite like it."
"Yeah, we already knew that," Geo says dryly. "How about in non-nerd speak for us plebs?"
Dr. Rami gestures to a highlighted area on the scan. "There's a gland seated at the base of the skull that all omegas possess, adjacent to the pituitary. It regulates omega hormonal cycles—heat, nesting instincts. Research suggests it's also responsible for scent matching recognition and the formation of pack bonds."
Her finger traces along several bright pathways on the screen.
"When an omega is marked, the gland shows increased activity. New pathways awaken." She pauses, her brow furrowing slightly. "Cosima's not only shows more pathways than should be present, but many of them are... dead."
The word hangs in the air like a corpse.
"Why?" My voice cracks. "Is that why she has the episodes?"
"Possibly," Plague says, tapping on the screen to indicate a small, dark spot near the base of her skull. "And likely related to this."
The implant.
It's smaller than I expected, nearly the size of a grain of rice. Maybe even smaller. But tendrils extend from it, invasive roots digging into tissue that should be sacred.
"She mentioned the pills affected her heat cycles too," Geo adds quietly.
One of the other doctors nods, his expression grim. "That would make sense. The omega gland is innately connected to their biology and cycles. If she was given medication to suppress symptoms caused by the implant, they would have affected her cycles as well."
"Can you take it out?" Nikolai's question is more demand than request.
The doctors exchange glances with Plague, their expressions carefully neutral. Dr. Rami says something to him in rapid Surhiiran, her tone apologetic.
"What did she say?" Geo snarls.
Plague's jaw ticks above his surgical mask. "The implant is small, but intricately connected. Removing it would be highly invasive. Potentially lethal." He pauses. "But there might be an alternative way to deactivate it. Suppress its function."
"Might be?" Geo's voice could strip paint.
"This isn't exactly a common problem," Plague says sharply. "There isn't a wealth of research, and what exists is..."
He trails off, but the implication hits like a fist to the gut.
The research would be with Maybrecht.
"What about the Refinement Center?" I say, grasping at straws. "That's where the original research was conducted, isn't it? They had to have records?—"
"I can have a team dispatched to pull all confiscated records," Plague confirms. "We can add them to what we can find."
"It's not enough." Nikolai's voice is flat. Final. "If we can't remove the implant, we have to find Maybrecht and force him to tell us how to turn it off."
The words settle over us.
"Then it sounds like the new Ghosts have their first mission," Plague mutters.
Geo takes a step toward him, fist clenched. "You smug son of a?—"
A sharp beeping cuts him off.
I spin toward the table, following the sound to the heart rate monitor attached to Cosima. Her pulse is climbing. The steady rhythm stutters, spikes, then races even though she should be sedated.
