The metal fights back. I can feel the resistance in my shoulders, my arms, the pull in my abdomen. My muscles complain. I’ve already used most of my strength today.
Adrenaline doesn’t care. It pours into my veins. I grit my teeth and push harder.
The panel gives an inch. Then another. I wedge my shoulder into the gap and drive forward until the door stutters all the way open.
The smell hits me hard. A metallic stench.
In my mind, a memory plays out. One I haven’t thought of foryears. Red flames, red blood, red rage.
Blinking, my eyes drop down. That shoe… This room… Belongs to Sergio.
He’s on his back. One leg’s out the door, twisted at an ugly angle. His shoe’s half off, crushed at the ankle. The skin around it is raw and torn, almost chewed through by the automatic frame. Blood’s spread in a dark, tacky smear.
I step over his leg, careful not to touch it.
He isn’t moving.
For a second—one desperate second—I tell myself he’s only unconscious. His arms are flung. His chest looks flat beneath the thin ship-issued shirt. His head is tilted just off-center, like he slipped and cracked it but never got back up.
Then I see his face and freeze. His mouth’s open, like he was trying to talk. Maybe shout. The expression stuck there is almost shocked.
But what shocks me is his eyes. They’regone. They weren’t torn out in some wild, messy way. Not clawed out, but…scooped out.
My stomach twists, acid climbing up my throat. Whoever did this was careful.
The skin around each socket is cut clean. The cut smooth and surgical. Someone knew exactly what they needed to remove.
My pulse slams so hard I feel it in my teeth. I’ve seen things. Clo’s labs. Otis’ notes. People reduced to puppets. Bodies piled and burning in a warehouse.
But I’ve never seen anything like…thisup close.
There’s almost no blood on his cheeks. It’s all pooled under his head, soaked into his hair. The sockets gape up at the ceiling like two dark, hollow questions.
The room tilts. I drop to a knee beside him, reaching for his neck. His skin is cold. No pulse.
I pull my hand back, fingers shaking, and sit there for a secondthat stretches too long.
Sergio. The guy who argued with Tomas about pastries. Who always laughed at Stan’s terrible jokes. Who looked wide-eyed and worried when his thoughts got loud.
He’s nothing now but a body pinned in a doorway with dark holes where his eyes used to be.
I force in a breath. Then another. My lungs feel like they’re filling with sludge. “Okay,” I tell myself. “Move. Get help.”
Whoever did this could still be close. The hall was empty, but that doesn’t mean a thing. I look around the room. It’s a standard cabin. One bed. One opened door to the powder room.
Everything looks normal except for the corpse.
And what’s missing from his face.
My fingers tighten into fists. In my head, I hear Em’s calm voice describing “emotional interference.” I hear Idris promising no one here’s a lab rat. I imagine Stan snoring down the hall, oblivious to the fact that someone just turned this place into a hunting ground.
I stand slowly. Every part of me feels tense. I go back toward the door, keeping my eyes on Sergio. The panel tries to close again. I catch it with my hand and let it inch forward until it rests against the ruined shoe without biting down.
Whoever did this knew Sergio would be here. Knew how the doors work. Knew enough about bodies to take what they wanted and leave the rest.
Maybe it’s the Kys. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, this is messed up.Beyondmessed up.
A monster’s moving through this ship, carving pieces out of people.
