Page 77 of Hollow State

And then it dipped. Not much, but enough that Darwin let out a sigh of relief.

Gideon tapped his fingers on the keyboard. “I pulled her baseline against Coulter’s.”

Darwin inched closer.

Coulter’s body had responded like a machine built for load. Bigger frame. More muscle. Higher burn. His system cleared it faster under stress, so he needed more compound. Darwin could draw that line all day long.

Wynn’s didn’t track the same way.

She had muscle. Conditioning. A high pain tolerance that bordered on stupid, though he would never say that into an open channel. But she wasn’t Coulter. She shouldn’t have needed a similar intervention. She shouldn’t have shown that kind of inflammatory push on a half dose.

The injury explained enough to justify AXS-1.

But it didn’t explain everything.

He opened his notes and pulled up her earlier lab work beside the live feed. Then Brea’s anomalous response. Then Kane’s AXS-1 curve.

Not the same.

Darwin looked at all five columns.

Wynn’s vitals were a question—one he couldn't afford to answer with his heart—and one he didn't know how to answer with science.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Wynn had never cared for vans.

Too many blind spots, and for some reason, she always thought of them as a coffin on wheels, especially ones without seats.

Or worse, ones that had big beds in the back. Her grandma had called those 1960s creeper vans. Only two types of men drove those. Ones who smoked too much weed and had little to no ambition and ones who were looking to harm women. Either way, growing up, Wynn had developed an aversion to all vans.

This one had two bucket seats up front, a false floor under their feet, and magnetic signs slapped over the side panels that made it look like it belonged to a utility contractor. The decals were good enough that no one would think twice when driving by.

She sat on the floor with her rifle, angled muzzle-down, between her knees and her med kit strapped tight against her hip. She stared at her thigh, expecting the throb to return at any moment.

But it didn't.

Darwin’s drug was doing exactly what it was supposed to do, and a sense of pride tugged at her heart. He'd done something extraordinary. But she also resented the lack of sensation. Taking away pain in an emergency situation was one thing, but this? She understood Darwin's conflict. She shared it.

However, this war had to end.

Across from her, Zadie sat with a hard case between her boots and two tablets balanced across her thighs. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as they waited for the right moment to execute the plan.

Scout crouched near the side door, one hand on the strap above her head, her gaze fixed at her feet.

In front, Neve sat behind the wheel, and Coulter occupied the passenger seat.

"Street cameras are looped,” Gideon's voice crackled over comms. “Traffic light on the west side is giving me a dirty feed, but it’s stable enough. No pedestrians within your block."

“Coulter, your response is steady after the second dose," Darwin said. "Wynn, inflammatory markers are down from the spike and stable.”

Wynn flexed her fingers around the rifle. “Copy.” It wasn't bad news. But it wasn't typical either. Basically, her numbers were even, and in a normal range, but not exactly where they should be.

“Ten minutes to get through the service entrance and into the north elevator bank,” Gideon said. “After that, I need Zadie attached to a hard line or ORACLE starts sniffing around the gap, and I won't be able to split its focus. You all have to haul ass once you leave that van."

"Is it normal not to feel different?" Scout asked. "I don't feel like I could leap tall buildings."

"You can't," Darwin said. "With the dose I gave you, once your feet hit the pavement, your sprint speed will likely double."