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... m my forehead, the damp cloth of the tank top clinging to my chest, muscles straining under the fabric. "But the system's picking up energy signatures—mine, ours, synced with this." I tapped the weapon, its hum spiking.

"Shit," she breathed, glancing at the others. "If they're tracking, we're screwed."

"Maybe," I said, crouching, the weapon humming, its pulse syncing with my heartbeat. I pressed my fingers to Rylan's blood—red, sticky, superhuman, cold on my skin. The sting hit—s ...

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