My stomach lurches without warning. The room tilts sideways, though I haven't moved an inch. Cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. I feel horrible.
"How long?" The words scratch past my raw throat. "Before it's through my whole body?"
"Already is." Jim doesn't bother opening his eyes, head still tipped back against his chair.
I stare at my arm where the purple lines only reach my shoulder. "That's impossible. The marks haven't spread past—"
"Those are just a different kind of progress." His tone carries the same bored indifference as always. "The serum's already circulating. What you see is where it's settling in."
The ceiling spins above me. I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only makes it worse. My insides feel like they're rearranging themselves, shifting and churning in ways that human anatomy definitely shouldn't move.
"I think I'm going to be sick."
"Bucket's by the bed if you need it."
