Arden Kole's Arc

Chapter 8 of 8

Arden's scalpel hovered over the sedated creature. The blade never touched skin. Behind her, the frost-stiff coat crackled. Edna Norsk had followed her in. "Six locks," Edna said. She counted on her fingers. "Three trays. And this thing's rampage means paperwork. The ward runs on bodies, girl. You want to cut here, you pay the tally." "One body," Arden said. "That's the procedure. That's all it needs." Edna shook her head. Her goggles glinted under the surgical light. "Four. Two for the mess. Two for my silence." She stepped toward the door. "Or the seal drops and you finish nothing." Arden's chest tightened. She had one creature. She could not conjure three more. Edna's hand moved to the wall panel. The lock light blinked red. Time was gone. Then Arden remembered the store room. The old locker in the corner. The failed cultures she'd abandoned months ago. Rotting flesh, useless for her brother. But bodies were bodies to Edna. She counted, she didn't inspect. "Wait," Arden said. "I have your bodies. Down the hall. Come see." Edna's fingers paused on the panel. Greed won. She followed. Arden led her to the store room and hauled the locker open. Cold air spilled out. Inside lay three failed grafts, gray and cracked, wrapped in stained cloth. She had cultured them, watched them rot, and locked them away in shame. "Three," Arden said. "For the mess and your silence." Edna leaned close. She poked one with a gloved finger. The skin split like wet paper. She muttered numbers, adding, subtracting. Her whole life was the tally, not the truth of the meat. "Rotted," Edna said. "They still count. Three bodies. You said four. I gave you three and the one on my table stays mine." Arden held her breath. Edna's mouth worked. She hated a loose number. But three bodies logged was three bodies logged. Her ledger cared for that alone. She dragged the locker toward her cart. "Three," she agreed. "The rest is yours. Finish before dawn." The wheels squealed down the corridor. Arden ran back to the cutting room. She threw the bolt from inside. The seal light turned green. Locked in, alone with the one body that mattered. No more demands. No more counting at her shoulder. The creature breathed on the table. Its single eye stayed shut. Living tissue. No rot. Everything her brother needed. But her hands shook now. She had bought her hour. She had emptied the last of her old failures to do it. If this creature was not enough, she had nothing left. No cultures. No wanderer. No spare flesh anywhere in the ward. She picked up the scalpel again. This time the blade met skin. The first cut opened clean. Warm. Whole. She began to take the creature apart, piece by piece, to build her brother. One body. It had to be enough.