Once he felt ready, and his calm, calculated demeanor had returned, Adyr crouched beside the corpse and began a closer examination.
The skin had an unnatural shade of gray. Not pale or diseased, but dull and metallic, with a rubbery texture that resisted even slight pressure. The mouth was wider than it should have been, pulled unnaturally at the corners. The teeth were sharp, uneven, and animal-like—built for tearing flesh, not chewing. These were one of the standard features in first-generation mutants.
But something else pressed at him. A tension rose beneath his thoughts, quiet and persistent. It wasn't emotion. It was instinct. His [Sense] stat pushed at him, like a whisper behind the eyes.
He drew a throwing knife from his thigh holster. It was one of the blades Henry had sent—razor-sharp and well-balanced. Still, when he tried to cut the skin, it resisted. The edge grated against the surface before finally breaking through. Even with a high-grade blade, it took force.
