Blaire’s smile didn’t waver. “Then I wipe the lace, sell the chrome for scrap, and donate the ivory to a medical school. Your call.”
The last thing Leo remembered was the rain. A greasy, neon-soaked drizzle that turned the city’s chrome grilles into mirrors of despair. Then came the blinding flash of a delivery truck’s headlights, the screech of tires like a wounded animal, and nothing.
“Name it.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I find the driver of that truck. The one that turned me into soup.” chrome blaire ivory
“I named a second chance after myself,” she corrected. “The chrome is for durability. The ivory is for beauty. The Blaire is for control. Without my neural architecture, your uploaded mind would shatter into digital confetti in about six hours.”
He was a weapon now. A beautiful, indebted ghost. And somewhere out in the rain, a driver was still breathing organic air. Blaire’s smile didn’t waver
Chrome. Blaire. Ivory.