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... e patched eye catching the flicker of Geras’s desk lamp. His gray tank top strained against his chest, veins snaking thick along his arms. "Labs were a nightmare," he said, voice gravelly, like he’d swallowed grit. "After Silas tore Spock out, I was gone—heart flat, blood pooling. Woke up strapped to a table, tubes jabbing my chest, some doc yelling about soul energy. They pumped in this glowing shit—looked like molten glass, burned worse. Felt my veins frying, like they’d burst any second."

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