Carmichael’s heart rate leapt, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

I crouched before him, intrigued by his severe reaction. “Answer the question.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. For whatever reason, Sammy meant something to Carmichael. Something big.

“Do you know what was done to Sammy?”

His heart rate spiked again, but it leveled out when he finally answered. “We—they infected him with a—” He shook his head, his brow furrowed. “Not a disease, but something worse.”

“Worse, how?”

Again, he shook his head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t involved much in that project, I swear.” Carmichael hesitated for a moment, then his heart rate elevated and he blurted, “Constance.” His heart rate remained at that higher level as he continued, “Just her. It was her idea . . . all of it.”

With a sigh, I lifted Mercy from my shoulder and rested her tip against Carmichael’s ribcage, angling it so the blade pressed in between his fifth and sixth ribs, right below his nipple. Just a little more pressure and I’d break the skin. I gave it that small amount of pressure.

Carmichael yelped.

“Here’s the deal, Mitch. I’m going to keep pushing on Mercy here—that’s my sword’s name—until you tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” I gave it a moment for the words to sink in. “Who was involved in the project?” He didn’t answer right away, and I started to push the blade in deeper. “How long until I puncture your lung, I wonder?”

“All of us,” he said. “We all knew about it. Everyone was involved to some degree, but Constance really was project lead on this.” He wasn’t lying.

“How do I get the cure?” I exerted a little more pressure. “Who has it?”

“I—” Carmichael shook his head vehemently. “I swear I don’t know anything about a cure.” The truth in his words turned my heart to lead.

I withdrew the blade. A deal was a deal, after all. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Ask him more about the children,” Dom said. “There’s something there. When you brought up Sammy—his reaction was too strong.”

I frowned, tilting my head from side to side and tapping Mercy’s blade against the outside of my boot as I considered Dom’s suggestion. I wanted to get my hands on Constance and the others before anyone caught wind that I was hunting Ouroboros board members, but a few extra questions couldn’t hurt. Besides, if Dom thought this was important . . .

I fixed my stare on Carmichael and stopped the rhythmic tapping. “Let’s talk more about Sammy.”

Again, the bastard’s heart rate spiked. Dom was onto something.

“Cute kid, though when I saw him, he was a little under the weather.” Understatement of the year. When I’d seen Sammy, the eight-year-old had been unconscious, his breathing labored and his temperature dangerously high. Now, well . . . at least he wasn’t suffering anymore. “Did you spend much time with him?” I asked.