Bruce slid the bolt aside. A young woman slipped through—dark hair, sharp eyes, a satchel slung across her chest. She smelled of diesel and rain.

Maybe the problem was that he’d been trying to cure the wrong half of himself.

“You’re hard to find, Dr. Banner,” she said, her voice low.

She placed a grainy photo on the steel table. A creature, hunched and massive, its skin a sickly yellow instead of green. But the eyes—those furious, intelligent eyes—were the same as the ones Bruce saw in his nightmares.