“There’s still something in there. I think that’s why it’s still bleeding,” she said, reaching for the thin-tipped forceps in the medical kit. “Hold still—I need to extract it.”
“What kind of something?”
“A thorn, I think.” She positioned the forceps carefully, trying to get a grip on the embedded spike. “They’re barbed, which is probably why it didn’t come out with the initial cleaning. I’ll need to?—”
The thorn shifted, and her forceps slipped.
Pain lanced through her finger.
“Ow!” She jerked her hand back instinctively as a bright bead of blood welled from the small cut on her fingertip. “Damn, that’s sharp.”
“Let me see.”
“It’s nothing—just a scratch.” She held up her hand, examining the tiny wound with professional interest. “The barbs are angled backward, designed to catch on flesh and tear when pulled. It’s a clever evolutionary adaptation for a carnivorous plant.”
“Liora.”
Something in his voice made her look up. He was staring at his arm with an expression she couldn’t read. She followed his gaze and felt her own breath catch.
The wound was closing.
Not slowly, the way wounds healed over days and weeks according to her medical texts. But rapidly, visibly, the torn edges of skin knitting together like the seams of a garment being pulled shut.
“What—” She leaned closer, her scientific instincts overriding her surprise. “That’s not possible. The healing cascade should take hours to initiate, and days to complete. Tissue regeneration requires?—”
“Vultor heal quickly.” His voice was tight. “But not this quickly. Not in seconds.”
“Then what caused?—”
She stopped.
Her blood.
The drop that had fallen from her cut finger, mixing with the open wound before either of them could react. Such a small amount—barely a smear against his silver bronze skin. But something about it had triggered this impossible acceleration.
“Interesting,” she murmured, already cataloging observations. The rate of closure, the lack of scarring, the way the new skin appeared slightly smoother than the surrounding tissue. “Ari, are you recording this? The healing response is completely anomalous. We should cross-reference with known regenerative compounds and?—”
“Liora.” He caught her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “Stop.”
She blinked at him, confused by the urgency in his voice. “Stop what?”
“Stop analyzing. Stop cataloging. Just—” He released her wrist and ran a hand through his dark hair, a gesture that seemed more frustrated than calculated. “Do you understand what just happened?”
“Your wound healed rapidly after exposure to my blood. It’s unusual, certainly, but?—”
“It’s not just unusual.” He fixed her with those intense eyes. “It shouldn’t be possible. Not for any species I know of. Vultor regeneration is fast, but it still follows biological limits. What you just did—whatever compound is in your blood—it bypassed those limits entirely.”
She looked down at her cut finger. The small wound had already closed, leaving no trace behind.
“I don’t feel any different,” she said. “I’ve never noticed anything unusual about my blood. Ari runs regular health scans, and?—”
She stopped as some half-forgotten memories surfaced. Ari asking her about any small cuts or scrapes. Ari carefully ensuring that any injury she sustained was treated and bandaged immediately. Ari never letting her see her own blood for more than a few seconds.
Why?
“Ari,” she said slowly. “What just happened?”
The AI’s response came after a pause that felt slightly too long.
