The sky burned coral and gold as Earth fell away beneath him.
Aethan drew the vial from his coat pocket with the same care he'd once used to check her IV line. Its icy-blue surface caught the last of the sunset and threw his face back at him. Ten years had taught that face not to answer anything. He turned the vial, and it wavered into his daughter's tear-stained eyes glazed with death.
“For you, Cela.” He pressed the needle to his wrist. HISS.
Silver climbed his veins. His grip tightened on the vial. The chip at the base of the plunger pressed against the pad of his thumb and warmed. He pulled, controlled. Then harder. Skin came up with it before it let go wet and sudden, leaving the thumb pad white and blistered.
He pocketed the vial.
