Yazmina had always known she was different.

Ever since she was a child, ever since that day in the forest, she understood that there was something inside her that did not belong to anyone else.

She remembered the heat of the jungle, the distant hum of cicadas blending with the steady, rhythmic calls of unseen creatures. The expedition camp was small—just a handful of tents, the scent of damp earth, and the quiet murmur of her father’s voice as he spoke to his colleagues.

He told her to stay inside.

She didn’t listen.

She was young. Curious. And above all, she wanted to see what he was doing.

So she stepped into the trees, the thrill of adventure buzzing under her skin. She moved carefully, watching where she placed her feet, quiet as a shadow. Her father was nearby, crouched over a small clearing, his hands delicate as he examined something on the ground.

A specimen.

She leaned closer.

And then—pain.

Sharp. Sudden. A burning sting against her ankle.

She gasped, stumbling back, her breath catching as she looked down.

A scorpion.

Its body gleamed dark and menacing under the moonlight, its tail curved, its venom already buried in her skin.

Her father turned just in time to see it.

She had never seen him so afraid.

He rushed to her, his hands gripping her shoulders, his face pale with horror. His voice was tight, desperate.

"Yazmina—look at me—are you dizzy? Can you breathe? Your heart—do you feel it slowing?"

She only blinked at him, confused.

Because aside from the sting, aside from the fading warmth where the venom had entered—

She felt nothing.

No pain. No dizziness. No paralysis creeping through her limbs like it should have.

The scorpion’s venom should have killed her in under three minutes.

But she stood there, unshaken.

Alive.

She watched her father’s expression shift. First disbelief. Then fascination.

That was the first time she saw that look in his eyes.

Not fear.

Curiosity.

That was the moment he realized she was something else.

And from that moment on, so did she.

---

Her father was gone now.

An accident, they said.

A fatal mistake, an unfortunate loss.

But Yazmina survived.

She had been old enough, strong enough, to stand on her own by then.

And she never let go of what she learned that day.

She became a doctor. A researcher.

And among all the studies she pursued, one remained her focus.

The scorpions.

Their venom. Their power.

Their connection to her.

It became her obsession, lingering in the back of her mind, in her blood, in every beat of her heart.

Because the scorpions should have killed her.

But instead—

They marked her.

And one day, she would understand why.

---

Elsewhere, Poppy sat alone in the dark, the vial of Poppy gas held tightly in her small porcelain hands.

She shouldn’t have taken it.

She knew that.

But Ollie had asked. And she would always do what Ollie asked.

She turned the glass cylinder over, watching the liquid swirl inside.

A gas meant for something else. For someone else.

Her father had made it.

Her father, who was supposed to love her.

But love didn’t exist in this place.

Only control.

Poppy gritted her teeth, tightening her grip.

She didn’t know why Ollie wanted it. She didn’t know what he planned to do.

But if it meant helping him—if it meant protecting the only friend she had left—

Then she would play her part.

No matter what it cost.

---

Yazmina stood in front of the mirror, staring at her own reflection.

Her fingers brushed over the skin of her arm, tracing the faint scars that only she knew were there.

She had done countless tests on herself over the years.

Tried to understand what made her different.

Tried to find answers.

But there were still pieces missing.

Still things she didn’t know.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

She wasn’t afraid of what she might find.

She never had been.

Because whatever secrets lay beneath her skin

She would uncover them.

Even if she had to tear herself apart to do it.

---

Dr. Crane had been summoned for a meeting, leaving Yazmina alone in the laboratory.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, she moved.

Silent. Precise.

She approached the glass enclosure at the far end of the room, where the scorpion Dr. Crane had been studying rested. It was an impressive specimen—larger than most, its exoskeleton gleaming under the artificial light. But what made it truly remarkable wasn’t its size.

It was its resistance.

To Poppy gas.

The scorpion had survived exposure to a substance designed to subdue and manipulate—something that shouldn’t have been possible.

And she needed to know why.

Without hesitation, she lifted the lid and replaced the creature with another of similar size and color—one she had prepared in advance. She moved quickly, careful not to draw attention to herself. The swap had to be flawless.

Once secured, she reached for a small containment box lined with reinforced glass. With practiced ease, she guided the original scorpion inside, sealing the lid before tucking it beneath her coat.

Her pulse remained steady. Her movements controlled.

This wasn’t the first time she had taken something she wasn’t supposed to.

And it wouldn’t be the last.

---

Yazmina strode through the dimly lit corridors, her steps measured and deliberate. The weight of the box was barely noticeable, but the significance of its contents was heavy.

She made it back to her dormitory without incident, slipping inside and locking the door behind her.

Only then did she exhale.

The room was sparse—sterile, like everything else in this facility—but it was hers. And for now, it was safe.

She set the box on her desk and unlatched the lid.

The scorpion remained still at first, its dark body curled in a defensive posture. Then, slowly, it unfurled its legs, its tail arching with practiced precision.

Yazmina watched it closely.

“You’re an interesting one,” she murmured.

The scorpion twitched as if it had understood.

She removed her gloves, flexing her fingers before extending a hand toward the creature. It didn’t retreat, didn’t react with aggression.

It recognized her.

The corner of her lips twitched.

If this creature was truly immune to Poppy gas, then it might hold answers. Answers that no one else had found.

And if there was one thing Yazmina hated—

It was unanswered questions.

She would figure out the connection.

She would find out what made this scorpion different.

And in doing so, she might finally understand what made her different too.