THE PULSE BENEATH HER SKIN

Lena woke to the faint hum of generators. The air smelled of antiseptic and rain-soaked metal. Fluorescent lights buzzed above her, sharp and cold. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was.

  Then memory struck — the glass, Victor’s warning, Adrian’s arms catching her as everything faded to black.

  She sat up too quickly. Pain pulsed through her abdomen like fire, dragging a gasp from her throat.

  The room around her wasn’t Adrian’s penthouse anymore. This place was smaller, darker — a converted underground bunker by the looks of it. Computers lined one wall, cables snaking across the floor like veins.

  A door hissed open.

  Adrian stepped in. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, dark stubble shadowing his jaw. There were circles under his eyes, and tension in every movement.

  “You’re awake,” he said quietly.

  She swallowed, throat dry. “Where are we?”

  “My safehouse outside the city. No signals in or out. They can’t trace us here.”

  Her pulse quickened. “Victor—?”

  “Gone,” Adrian cut in. “When you collapsed, he said you needed help. Then he left. I don’t know if he’s working with them or not.”

  Lena tried to stand, but he was beside her instantly, a steady hand on her shoulder. “Easy. You fainted from stress and exhaustion. And…” His gaze flicked toward her stomach, hesitant. “Something else.”

  She followed his eyes, then froze. Her skin beneath the thin hospital gown was glowing faintly. Not a bright light — just a soft, shifting luminescence that pulsed beneath the surface like liquid moonlight.

  “Adrian…” Her voice shook. “What’s happening to me?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned to the monitor and pulled up a series of medical scans. “I ran some tests while you were unconscious.”

  The screen displayed her bloodwork — the red cells altered, their cores shifting with strange bioluminescent threads.

  “It’s rewriting your DNA,” he said at last, voice low and hoarse. “Whatever they put inside you — it’s not human.”

  Her breath caught. “You mean the baby?”

  Adrian’s jaw tightened. “I mean both of you. The child’s development is… influencing you. It’s changing your cells, your pulse, even your brain waves. Erevos called it Symbiosis.”

  Lena pressed a hand to her stomach. The faint glow flared beneath her fingers, warm and rhythmic — like a heartbeat answering her own.

  “I can feel it,” she whispered. “It’s… aware.”

  Adrian turned back to her, eyes dark. “Then we don’t have much time.”

  The weight of his words settled like smoke between them.

  For a long moment, silence filled the bunker. The only sounds were the whirring machines and Lena’s uneven breathing. Then she looked up at him — really looked — and saw the fear he was trying to hide.

  “You think I’m dangerous,” she said quietly.

  “I think they made you something they don’t understand.”

  Her throat ached. “And what about you? You don’t understand me either.”

  He hesitated. Then his voice softened, almost breaking. “I’m trying to.”

  She wanted to believe him. God, she did. But the past stood between them like glass — all the lies, the betrayals, the pain they’d never named.

  Her eyes blurred. “You still don’t forgive me, do you?”

  Adrian’s gaze fell. “I forgave you the day you left. I just never forgave myself for letting you.”

  Something cracked in her chest at that.

  Before she could speak, the lights flickered — once, twice.

  Adrian’s head snapped up. “Power surge.”

  Then came a sound — faint at first, then sharper — static bleeding through the comms.

  A distorted voice whispered through the speakers:

  > “You can’t hide her forever, Mr. Cole.”

  Adrian moved fast, slamming a switch that killed the line. “Damn it. They’ve found a signal.”

  “How?” Lena’s voice trembled.

  He was already moving, pulling open a weapons case, checking the safety on a handgun. “We have maybe ten minutes before they breach this place.”

  She stood, clutching the edge of the bed for balance. “Then we run.”

  He shook his head. “No. You’re not stable enough. The child—”