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Not central medic facility. Too far.

A secure royal medical facility.

My pulse jumped. Of course. We were close enough now.

Royal territory had its own containment network. Separate chain. Separate authority.

I nearly laughed. “Found it.”

“What?”

“A third choice.”

Veyr’s eyes sharpened.

I pushed up from my knees, the motion a half-crouch that sent a fresh streak of Veyr’s blood smearing across the console. My fingers, slick and trembling, jabbed at the panel.

CRITICAL CASUALTY.

The screen shifted. I stabbed ZUNATORIAN MALE. SEVERE BLOOD LOSS. My thumb hovered over COMPROMISED REGENERATIVE RESPONSE. The words glowed, an accusation. I thought of the light under my hands, flaring and failing. I hit YES.

AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED glowed red. I entered the chain-breach code I’d memorized weeks ago, my knuckles white.

ACCEPTED.

The route flickered, then held steady: ROYAL MEDICAL TRANSFER AVAILABLE. The air left my lungs in a rush.

A voice crackled from the overhead speaker, cold and synthetic. “Human female, disengage from the system.”

My jaw tightened. I ignored it, navigating to the next prompt. CONTAMINATION STATUS.

My eyes flicked to Veyr, to the dark pool widening beneath him. UNKNOWN SOURCE / ACTIVE BLEEDING. The selection clicked into place.

The hub erupted. A new, deeper siren wailed. Heavy doors slammed shut in the distance, their echoes vibrating through the deck plates. The route on my screen flashed a higher priority crimson.

“Stop!” a man’s voice shouted from beyond the barrier, raw with frustration.

A grim, cold satisfaction tightened in my chest.

I hit confirm.

A low mechanical groan shuddered up through the deck plates. The medical-transfer doors hissed open, revealing a sterile white chamber beyond.

Veyr pushed off the console, his body listing sideways. I caught him under the arm, my boots sliding on the blood-slick floor. His weight drove me back against the panel.

“Don’t you dare leave me to do this alone,” I said. “Help me.”

“Trying.” The word came out strained between clenched teeth.

“No. You’re doing that collapsing thing where you look good doing it.”

His arm hooked over my shoulders like a fallen beam. My knees buckled. The smell of ozone and copper filled the space between us.

“Move,” he gritted out.

“Working on it.”

Behind us, metal shrieked. The containment barrier juddered upward—inch by grinding inch. Review Enforcement helmets appeared beneath it.