Page 19 of The Quoram Effect

I need food.

I should try another ice pack.

I wish I’d just fall asleep. Maybe Ishouldget those pills.

It didn’t matter what my brain told me to do—I laid there in a pain-induced paralysis, drowning further in my own self-pity and sorrow.

Chapter Nine

It was nearly 20:00 hours by the time I peeled myself off the sofa. Glancing at my comms, I found three messages. One from Saul asking how it went with the nurse. The second from the medical centre with the sleeping tablet prescription. And the last one was from Torz, saying he’d stopped by but there was no answer. I vaguely remembered a knocking sound rupturing my brain hours ago, but being so deep in the paralysis of pain, I had disregarded it, convinced it was my imagination or some kind of comatose side effect.

I sighed and messaged Saul back, telling him I was fine and had been given new meds—not a complete lie. But as I clicked on Torz’s message, my fingers froze. I wondered if he’d spoken to Chaz. Wondered if he’d smoothed out yesterday’s attack with the Board and the media. Wondered if he was still babysitting Marla and laughing at her jokes.

I squeezed my eyes closed, unsure of how to process it all. Should I reply to him? Did I need to? He hadn’t asked a question. Either way, I didn’t want to bother or alarm him. He had enough on his plate.

Forcing myself to my feet, I ambled to the shower, leaving my comms on the sofa.

The steady stream of cold water numbed my shoulder long enough to give me incentive to get dressed. I struggled into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved top, then clipped my small bag around my waist before shoving my feet into a pair of slip-onshoes. Walking as impassively as I could, I left the apartment, heading to the pharmacy located a few intersections over.

The pain in my shoulder steadily grew as the warmth of my body thawed from the mild exertion. Swallowing back the sickness the movement relentlessly triggered, I clutched my comms with the prescription visible on the screen. I rounded the corner, coming to a halt outside the square service window, and squinted at the dark store lying beyond. The fog in my eyes pulsed with my heartbeat, and it took me several long seconds to realise the pharmacy wasn’t open.

Growling my despair, something dark and angry snapped inside of me, and my fist lashed out, striking the sign stating the pharmacy was closed until 06:00 hours…only to regret my impulsive reaction as agony rippled across my upper body.

“Fuck!”

A mountain of emotions crumbled down on me as tears prickled at my eyes, and the clench of despair tightened incessantly in my chest. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t piece my next course of action together. There were other pharmacies on different levels, different sectors—I knew there were other pharmacies—but weighed down by the incinerating pain and grappling for sanity, the only thing I could think about was succumbing to numbness, and my laboured footsteps found purpose, treading a route I hadn’t ventured in years.

The sane, logical half of my mind screamed for me to stop, but like the devil whispering sweetness in my ear, the deranged, desperate part won the battle. Before I could question my intentions any further, I was entering the Yeva Zone, located on Delta Ring’s highest floor—Level Ten.

I kept my head down as I passed the first section of affluent boutiques, busy restaurants, and swanky bars. Everything was stylish and welcoming, but like so many thriving andsophisticated places, there was a darker, more sinister network operating behind the chic and trendy facade.

Still fighting the hazy dizziness, I ambled on through the slowly curving corridor with its glass ceiling lined with twinkling fairy lights. The effect gave the illusion I was floating in space, like so many times during survival training with Torz. When our souls hadn’t been compromised, and my life was still full.

My heart throbbed at the thought of him. He’d be angry if he discovered where I was heading, but he didn’t need to know. He had too much on his plate, and with Marla Hyde demanding his attention…

A sliver of dread clawed down my spine, slowing my steps.

What if he’s taken her to dinner?

My eyes frantically swept the area, marking the faces of a couple strolling arm in arm, then the smartly dressed patrons seated at the tables outside the series of restaurant fronts. I recognised a woman with short blonde hair dining with a friend. She worked at the command centre as a fleet coordinator. I’d never spoken to her, but as I was one of Torz’s prime security team, she was bound to know my face.

But with my long, dark hair freed from its usual stark bun, would she recognise me when I wasn’t encased in the Argentum’s black uniform?

No, I’m invisible. I’m always invisible.

With that in mind, I continued on, shaking my hair forward to cover my face a little more.

My heart thundered in my chest as I slunk round a tight left corner and down a steep set of metal steps. The haze of shisha smoke hit me first, then the floral, sweet fumes of the enchanting brews drifting from the quaint teahouse located at the end of a narrow alley. It was the perfect, legal front for a drug exchange. It only remained here untouched because Torz trusted the owner, Pye Yamshi. His help with procuring Q for thePuran medical supply runs had been life-changing for hundreds of ill Purans. Albeit a small drug dealer, Pye was a good man.

Glazed eyes lazily turned my way as I staggered through the door, knocking my head against the paper lanterns hanging from the low ceiling. It was darker in here than I recalled. The sparsely spaced red lights shone through the smoky haze, making it a struggle to navigate the cramped room where cushions littered the floor around low wicker tables.

A figure dressed in white came into view. I recognised the older man with ebony skin and dozens of twisted black braids. As I approached, Pye gave me a double take, then beamed.

“Now, here’s a face I haven’t seen in a while.”

I tried to smile, but my lips stretched awkwardly, offering a grimace instead. Coming to a stop at the serving counter where two long lines of teapots graced the surface in front of the shisha pipes, I propped myself up against the bar, keeping the arm of my injured shoulder locked tight against my body.

“What can I getcha for?” He gestured to the tea leaves stacked in clear pots behind him—some white, some brown, some purple. “Jasmine and quorla grass seem to be the favourites at the moment.”