I couldn't focus.
Not with everything still thrumming in my chest like static—sharp, erratic, constant.
The cameras were still on. I could feel them—silent eyes in the corners, watching for cracks, for signs. But I didn't care about them as much as I cared about what I might do. What I might become.
My mate sat across from me, legs folded beneath him like he belonged in a glass display. Silent. Serene. Unnaturally still.
Every time I looked at him, it hurt.
Not the bond. That was its own quiet ache.
No, it was the knowing. The awareness of what he'd been made for. What they wanted to use him for. Who they wanted to give him to.
I shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position on the pristine marble floor. The room was too quiet. Every sound I made felt amplified—my breath, the rustle of fabric, my heartbeat.
"Hi," I tried.
His gaze slid to me. Calm. Curious.
I swallowed. "I'm… going to be here with you for a while. They want me to teach you things. Talk to you. Help you express feelings."
He blinked, but didn't speak. Just tilted his head.
Like a puppy hearing something new for the first time.
I gave a weak chuckle. "They didn't really train you for conversation, huh?"
He smiled faintly. Small. Polite.
Gods, he was beautiful. It almost didn't feel real. Like someone had carved him out of snow and moonlight.
"I'm Rhea," I added after a moment. "Rhea Nyx."
Another blink. Another tilt of the head.
His lips parted—just slightly. I leaned forward, thinking maybe—maybe—he was about to try. About to speak.
But nothing came out. His expression flickered like he was searching for a word he didn't know yet.
"It's okay," I said softly. "You don't have to. I'll do the talking."
And I did.
I told him about how I'd ended up here—stripped of choices, making deals I never wanted to make. I talked about the shelter. Mira. Anika. Dev. I told him about Nyx, though I didn't say the word wolf.
I just said "friend in my head." He didn't question it.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped hearing myself talk. My words blurred into each other like fog across glass. I watched him instead—how he watched me.
The slow, thoughtful way his fingers touched the hem of his own sleeve. The way his lashes caught the light. The quiet breath he took every time I said something sad.
His eyes were the color of dusk and magic and secrets. I couldn't stop staring. They had a weight to them. Like they knew something. And the longer I looked, the less I remembered what I'd been saying.
"Your eyes," I murmured, almost to myself. "They shouldn't even be real."
He smiled again.
And before I knew what I was doing, I leaned forward.
My fingers reached out—tentative, unsure—and brushed a strand of hair from his face. He didn't flinch. Just blinked slowly, like the touch was something normal.
My hand stayed there.
His hair was softer than I'd imagined. Like clouds soaked in moonlight. My thumb moved slightly, catching the edge of a curl. And for one long second, I forgot everything.
The walls. The cameras. The threat. The rules.
It was just us.
Me, and him.
Nyx purred in my mind, pleased beyond reason.
Then the soft whir of a camera rotating broke the spell.
I jerked my hand back like it had been burned.
"Sorry," I muttered, voice hoarse.
He didn't flinch. Didn't question. Just blinked slowly, as if the apology itself was a language he didn't yet understand.
The silence pressed in again, thick and watchful.
I shifted backward slightly, putting space between us. I tried to breathe through the tightness in my chest. Tried to remember why I was here. What I was meant to be doing.
He mirrored me, almost exactly, down to the angle of his knees and the way I held my hands in my lap.
Like a reflection.
Like a doll waiting for the next command.
And somehow, that was worse than if he'd shown fear or confusion or even defiance.
Because it meant he was learning. Absorbing.
From me.
I looked at him again—at the white hair that fell in perfect, silken waves around his face, at those violet eyes that never stopped watching—and the guilt crawled up my throat.
He was more than beautiful.
He was a person.
Even if they tried to engineer that out of him.
Even if they only ever meant for him to be a thing.
Nyx stirred again in my head, low and fierce.
"We'll protect him," she whispered. "Even if he doesn't know he needs it."
I swallowed hard, eyes still locked on him.
"You don't know me yet," I said quietly. "But I'll be here. I'll try not to let them break you."
He tilted his head again, just slightly.
As if he heard.
As if he understood.
And somehow, that tiny movement felt like the beginning of something I didn't have a name for.
Something fragile.
Something dangerous.
Something alive.
And that something was fucking scary.
I fled the room without looking back.