Lack of sleep and food will do that to a girl. I stay up all night, trying to think of ways to manufacture my trait into something tradable. Even my “fun” breaks, taking the time to identify the intricate bio-accelerant components to Cy’s DNA, don’t cheer me up. Marka finally threatens to close down the lab if I don’t consume some calories, so I march away to the kitchen with Cy to get a bite. I jump onto one of the countertops as he orders two bowls of Greek lemon soup from the food efferent. I grumble into the bowl between sips. “If I can’t think of how to do this, I’m just going to trade myself.” “That’s not going to happen,” Cy says, slurping soup. “That’s uncharacteristically optimistic of you.” “It’s not, actually.” Cy looks at me under his hair. I love his eyes, those shining bits of gold within the gray, but at the moment they’re more cold metal than sun.
