I lift the pouch carefully and bring it closer to her arm. Not touching. The glow brightens. Sera inhales. The bandage over the cut catches faint blue at the edges. My heart stops for one brutal beat.
The epis responds to her blood. Or the residue. Or both. Not enough information to know. Too much to ignore.
Sera looks from the sample to me. “Is that supposed to happen?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
The sample pulse shifts. Blue. Pause. Blue. Not once. Pause. Again. A different rhythm. Slower. Closer to breath. Sera’s breath. I look at the rise and fall of her chest. The glow follows. Her breathing quickens. So does the sample’s pulse.
Her eyes widen. “Kavor.”
“I see.”
“Why is it doing that?”
“I do not know.”
“That is becoming less charming.”
“It was never charming.”
“No, it was briefly charming when you were wrong less often.”
The glow brightens again, reflecting on her face. She looks afraid. Not of the tunnel. Not of the gray thing. Afraid of herself.
“I didn’t do anything,” she says.
“I know.”
“I touched the wrap.”
“Yes.”
“And bled on it.”
“Near it.”
“Kavor.”
“I do not know.”
Her mouth tightens. “But you’re thinking something.”
Too much. Mate stories. Old stories. Epis reacting to blood, bodies, need. Compatibility. Resonance. Bijass. A bond not yet named, but already placing its teeth gently around the shape of us.
No proof. Only fear. Only wanting. Only the way the red in me went still when she said the sample first. Only the way the epis breathes with her.
“I am thinking many things,” I say.
“Pick one that doesn’t make your face look like a locked door.”
I look at the sample. Then I look at her bandaged arm.
“Epis strengthens life,” I say slowly. “It responds to living systems. Heat. Blood. Pressure. Sometimes sound. Perhaps your blood woke it.”
“My blood?”
