Twenty-three
Somehow, Ryann knew what was about to happen. It made sense, like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place.
Cathal spasmed. Where the light fell on him, his skin rippled. The darker, leathery patches stretched and bulged, and a fine mist rose, like sweat evaporating. But it carried the stench of his wound with it, rancid and pungent.
An arm shot out, striking her leg before flailing in the air. Cathal moaned, and there was a low hiss at the back of his throat that grew into an angry rattle.
His body buckled, his back rising from the bunk. His other hand smacked against the wall with a crunch. The hiss grew into a cry of pain. Through her connection, Ryann felt his lattice flare bright, burning up, and a thousand synapses sparked.
“Enough!”
Brice looked at her, then back
