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“I have an idea.” I run my gloved hand along the array of vials, all of them different varieties of proteins, each one a possible answer. One sticks in my mind, though—a signalosome I’d been working with in Austin when the outbreak first started. It was able to break the envelope, but it did nothing to stop the viral replication. In fact, after multiple trials, I discovered it made the virus replicatefaster. Like a supercharger. Dangerous. Useless when looking for a cure. But now?

I slide the tray back in, then pull out another, my eyes scanning along the vials as I try to find the correct combination of letters and numbers. “Gretch, look up COP9, the Falstaff variant. Tell me if it’s here.”

“Okay. Just a sec.”

Ithasto be here. I keep scanning, my exhalations trying to cloud the front of my suit.Slow down. I stand up straight, then catch movement. Wyatt is in the next containment room over. Loading a centrifuge, he hasn’t noticed I’m in here with him. Probably better that way. I don’t want to distract him, not when we might both be on the verge of discovery.

“Tray 7, vial B6.”

“Yes!” I move to the next refrigeration unit and open it, sliding out the correct drawer. When I find the variant, I pull the vial out gently then carry it over to the microscope with the vampire blood sample. “Got it.” It’s as if my mind is on autopilot, all the years I spent researching distilled into a crystalline knowledge of the specific formula that just might work.

My hands are shaking, and I flex my fingers to try to steady them. I’ve done this thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of times. ‘It’s just another experiment,’ I tell myself. It doesn’t work to calm me down any. I feel this deep in my gut—the fear, the excitement, the electric sense of being on the cusp of something big.

I hit record on the microscope’s video function, then slowly combine the factor with the signalosomes. Once I’m confident the solution is ready, I change the slide and refocus.

With a deep breath and a silent prayer, I add the test materials to the vampire cells.

I stare through the lens, goose bumps rising along my skin as I watch the interaction. The spiky vampire cells don’t react to the protein.

“Come on. Come onnnnn,” I mutter under my breath.

I wait.

Nothing.

“Maybe—” Gretchen’s voice cuts off as the spikes on the vampire cells lengthen, almost defensively. Then, in a matter of a heartbeat, the proteins invade the spiky cells, the slide going hazy and pink as the hemoglobin escapes the failing cell structure and disintegrates. The slides crack, the blood turning to ash and leaving a black smudge behind.

I stare, my mouth hanging open.

“We did it.” Gretchen’s voice trembles. “This is it. Oh my god.”

I back away from the eyepiece and peer at the shattered slide. Nothing is left, only carbon, a bit of ash. We don’t know the proper concentration or any of the variables to make it fully viable right away, but itworks.

“I think …” Her shaking voice trails off. “I think maybe we should erase the data from the system.”

My elation turns cold as I realize she’s right. Shit, if they’re watching our computers, they may already know what we’ve done. Then again, if they had scientists working at our level and watching us, they would’ve already figured out what we were doing when I started my experiments to destroy the samples. “Gretchen?”

“Yeah?”

“Delete it all. Make sure it’s gone.”

“On it,” she replies.

I scrape the shattered glass into my palm and dump it into the biohazard bin. Then I return to the cold storage and mix a vial of the factor and the signalosomes. I bring it with me, staring at it as I leave the HCL.

It takes another century for me to strip out of the protective gear. Once I’m back in the open lab, Gretchen is at her computer, her fingers flying across the keys. The vial is in my shirt pocket, cool against my hot skin. I should’ve left it in the HCL, maybe marked it in some way. But I want to keep it close. A talisman, a necklace of garlic.

“We good?” I ask Gretchen.

“As good as we can be. I’ve cleaned the data from every computer still hooked up to the system,” she whispers.

My head is swimming as I sit beside her. I don’t have a plan of how to use this discovery, but just knowing there’s a way to kill them other than sunlight. Fucking hell. I need to tell Juno. There has to be some avenue to get the information to her.

“Done with this?” Gene asks as he shuffles up and points to the paper plate on my desk, only scraps of toast left.

“Yeah,” I say absently.

He swipes it into a waste bin and heads off to tidy Aang’s desk while he’s not looking. His limp isn’t noticeable at all anymore. He’s recovered so well despite his age.