"Is the element at optimal thermal capacity, Silas?"
The question hung in the freezing, hyper-illuminated air of Vault B-4. Camille did not look up. She kept her gaze fixed on Yanna's vacant, dilated eyes, her taped fingers gently stroking the girl's sweat-soaked hair.
"The induction coil has reached nine hundred degrees Celsius, Ms. Navarro," Silas's voice echoed from the corner of the room. "The iron is glowing. It is ready for application."
"Bring it to the desk."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Camille shifted her weight on the epoxy floor. She hoisted Yanna's limp, paralyzed upper body effortlessly into her arms, standing up in a single, fluid motion of predatory grace.
"Did you hear the technician, Asset?" Camille asked, walking slowly toward the massive black obsidian desk.
