Elizebeth POV:
"No anesthesia," the Oracle rasped from the corner. A shriveled hag Jaylah kept on payroll. "Chemicals taint the magic."
Floyd nodded. "Do it."
The nurse approached. The needle was thick, designed for rapid extraction. The tip was dull gray.
Silver-coated alloy. To keep the wound from healing too fast.
"No," I gasped. "Not silver."
The needle pierced my skin.
A scream tore from my throat. It felt like liquid fire injected directly into the marrow. The silver seared the entry point, cauterizing and burning simultaneously.
My body convulsed against the straps.
"Hold her still!" Floyd barked.
He didn't hold my hand. He pinned my shoulder, his weight crushing me into the mattress so they could drain me dry.
I watched the bag fill. Crimson. My life.
The room spun. Black spots danced in my vision. My heart fluttered—a bird dying in a cage.
"That's enough," the Healer said, his voice underwater. "She's going into shock."
"Is Mara stable?" Floyd asked.
"Yes."
Floyd released me instantly. He didn't check the wound. He turned his back and went to comfort Jaylah, releasing his pheromones—cedar and musk.
That scent was biologically mine. And he was using it to soothe the woman who wanted me dead.
The nurse unstrapped me. "You can go," she muttered, avoiding my eyes.
I tried to sit up. The world tilted. I hit the floor.
"Get up," Floyd said, annoyed. "Stop acting."
I couldn't.
"She's cluttering the room," Jaylah complained.
Floyd looked at me with pure disgust. "Guard. Take her to the old isolation ward. Don't let her die in the hallway; it looks bad for the image."
Two warriors dragged me out.
They threw me into a disused cell at the end of the dark wing. It smelled of rust and old fear.
I lay on the dusty mattress, shivering. The silver burn in my arm throbbed.
In the silence, something shifted.
For five years, I had loved him. But as the cold seeped into my bones, that love didn't fade. It curdled.
I didn't love Floyd Meyers anymore. I hated him.
