Sophia Krich-Brinton

She held up the hand, brushing it off as her heart quivered in her throat like she’d swallowed a desert wasp. It was almost perfect—all five fingers and not a scratch on any of them. She couldn’t believe it, even as she screwed it on and latched it to her wrist. It took a few seconds before activating, which was long enough to make her anxious. Her chest got tight and she flicked her eyes to the pile, already searching for a backup. Then the hand creaked in motion, thumb bending, fingers clenched. She brushed it against her cheek and savored its smooth metallic warmth. She laughed out loud with the joy of it.