His forehead struck the wet iron grating of the floor. He tried to scream, but the frost had already seized his vocal cords, turning his desperate gasp into a rattle of dry ice. Through the agonizing

The liquid didn't flow; it clawed. Cold as liquid nitrogen, it tore down his carotid artery, a pack of jagged teeth ripping through his circulatory system. Julian fell to his knees,

choice.

He slammed the brass injector collar against his collarbone. The pneumatic hiss of the trigger was instantly swallowed by the screech of warping steel behind him. Then came the plunge.

Nine, whispering to the dark, waiting for the day the surface fell silent. Now, with the alarms howling above and the bulkhead doors buckling under the weight of the encroaching tide, he had no

t wasn’t a passive serum; it was a predator, and it was starving.

Julian’s knuckles turned white. He had spent three years in the subterranean vaults of Sector