The backup car—a heavily armored SUV that smelled of gun oil and spearmint gum—tore through the rain-slicked streets of the capital.
Kai was driving like a man possessed, weaving through traffic with a terrifying disregard for the law. In the back seat, Aria sat with Damien's head in her lap.
He was burning up.
The neurotoxin had triggered a cytokine storm. His skin was dry and hot to the touch, and his tremors had returned with a vengeance, racking his body with violent shudders.
"Stay with me," Aria whispered, her hands pressing cool cloths (found in the car's emergency kit) to his forehead and neck. "We're almost there. Just breathe, Damien. Breathe."
Damien's eyes were slit open, glazed and unfocused. He wasn't seeing her. He was seeing the darkness of his own mind.
"No..." he mumbled, his voice a delirious rasp. "Don't... let them... take her."
Aria's heart clenched. Even while dying, he was worried about her being taken.
