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"I'm sorry," I say again, knowing how inadequate the words are.

"Stop saying that." She drops her head to her knees. "Just... stop."

We sit in silence for a moment.

"I'm scared," she finally whispers.

The admission catches me off guard. "Of what?"

"Of failing." She lifts her head, and her eyes shine with unshed tears. "What if I can't find a cure? What if Hammond succeeds in whatever he's planning next? This virus was just the beginning, wasn't it?"

"Probably," I admit. "Hammond isn't the type to give up easily. If this virus fails to meet his expectations, he's likely working on something new."

"That's not comforting."

"It wasn't meant to be." I reach out, hesitating before letting my hand fall back to my side. "But at least now we know what we're up against. We have his research, his formulas. We can work backward from there."

"We?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, we." I hold her gaze. "I'm not walking away from this, Dahlia. I can't. Not until it's fixed."

"You can't fix death," she says softly.

"No," I agree. "But I can prevent more of it."

She wipes her eyes. "I want to hate you."

"I know."

"But I can't." She sighs. "Not when there's a bigger enemy out there. Not when Hammond might be creating something even worse as we speak."

"So, what now?" I ask, hardly daring to hope.

"We work together." She straightens her shoulders. "You have to give me everything you know about Hammond, about the virus, and about the research. No more secrets."

"Done," I say immediately. "No more secrets."

"And you help me in the lab. You were part of the original research team. You understand this virus in ways I don't."

I nod. "Anything else?"

"Yes." She fixes me with a stern look. "You tell the others. All of it. They deserve to know who they're working with."

My stomach tightens. "They'll kill me."

"They won't." She almost smiles. "I won't let them."

"Why would you protect me?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Because I need your brain intact to find this cure." She pushes a curl behind her ear. "And because... I don't think you're a monster. Not completely, anyway."

"That's high praise," I say dryly.

To my surprise, she laughs out loud this time. "You're such an ass."

"I prefer the term 'complicated individual,'" I reply, feeling something in my chest loosen at the sound of her laughter.

"Is that what you want to call it?" She shakes her head, but the ghost of a smile lingers on her lips.