"Take the blood, now."
"Sir—" Frederick Gonzales kept his voice steady but his hand trembled at the vial rack.
"Do it." Flavian Ivanov did not look at the physician. He watched Haven instead, slow and cold in the sickness bed, the smoke still clinging to her hair.
Maverick Dell stepped forward and gripped Haven's wrist like iron. "Don't fight. It'll be worse for you."
Haven spat. "You have no right—"
"Save your breath." Maverick tightened his hold. "You're wasting oxygen."
Frederick pressed a lancet to Haven's arm. She flinched and screamed a name that was cut off by a hand over her mouth.
"Enough." Flavian walked to the table and set his palm on the vial as Frederick bled. He watched the dark blood spool into glass like it owed him something.
"You recognize me yet?" Flavian asked, quiet, savoring each syllable.
Haven's eyes opened. Rage burned there, raw and immediate. For a moment she knew him. The recognition hit her like a slap. She arched, tried to pull away, and only managed a broken whisper: "Flavian—"
He leaned closer and smiled. Small, precise, not kind. "That's good. Keep it. You'll remember."
Frederick's hands hovered. "There are toxins. The samples—"
"I told you to take it." Flavian did not ask. He snapped his fingers. "Now, Gonzales."
Frederick did as ordered. He did not look at Flavian when he did it. He did not look at Haven either. Blood filled the vial
