Breakfast felt surreal.
Not because of the food—which was too rich, too curated, like something from a high-end hotel buffet—but because of how casually everyone moved around me, as if none of them were part of a criminal empire.
The main dining room was all glass walls and smooth marble, sunlight pouring through like we were inside a luxury resort instead of a high-security compound. Somewhere, beyond the illusion, there were fences. Guards. Labs filled with things that should not exist.
I sat near the edge of the long communal table, hands wrapped around a porcelain cup of something that tasted vaguely like coffee, though it was smoother and laced with a floral note I couldn't place.
No one had told me to eat with the others. But it had been implied. Encouraged, even.
That's what this job was, wasn't it?
Integration.
Observation.
Training the hybrids. And pretending I was just another loyal cog in the machine.
Across from me, a man with sharp cheekbones and a silver hoop in his brow nodded in greeting. "Rhea, right?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah."
He extended a hand across the table. "Skell. Logistics."
His grip was warm and dry. Efficient.
I glanced at the others. A few heads turned, watching me with open curiosity. Some with suspicion.
"You're the one working with Subject Nine?" Skell asked.
Subject Nine.
I tried not to flinch at the clinical weight of the term.
"You mean…" I hesitated, "the omega?"
"Yeah. Pretty one. Violet eyes." He gestured vaguely with his spoon like that was all the description needed. "High-tier product. They've been developing him for years. Didn't think he'd get field exposure, but here we are."
My stomach turned at product.
"I didn't know he had a number," I said carefully.
Skell laughed under his breath. "They all do. Makes it easier to track development stages. But Nine's always been different. They made him with a specific buyer in mind."
I kept my face neutral, even though Nyx bristled in my mind.
"Who?"
"Can't say," he replied. "Top brass stuff"
I took a slow sip of coffee so I wouldn't have to answer.
"They say he's compliant," Skell went on. "Beautiful but kind of… glassy. Did you find that to be true?"
Glassy.
I thought about the way Nine had looked at me the day before. The slight furrow in his brow when I'd stood to leave. The way his eyes had followed me with quiet confusion, as if he was trying to understand something that had no words.
"I think he's more aware than people give him credit for," I said.
Skell shrugged. "Well, sure. He's designed to be. But that doesn't mean he knows what to do with any of it."
He went back to his food, leaving the words to linger like a bad aftertaste.
I excused myself before long, muttering something about prepping for another session. In truth, I just needed air.
The hallway was cool and quiet, lined with art that didn't feel like it belonged in a place like this. Clean, minimalist. Peaceful.
It felt wrong.
Everything here was wrong.
But none of that compared to what I couldn't shake—his face.
The way his lips had parted slightly when I'd stood too quickly. The way his head tilted, like he didn't understand why I was leaving. Like I'd broken some unspoken rule.
He hadn't tried to stop me. He hadn't moved at all.
But his expression had shifted.
Subtle.
A tiny crease between his brows.
A whisper of something like confusion.
And hurt.
Not anger. Not fear.
Just… quiet pain.
He didn't know what to do with it.
He didn't know what it was.
And I'd just walked out.
Now, the guilt sat in my chest like a splinter I couldn't pull out.
I paused near the elevator, hand hovering near the panel.
I didn't owe him anything.
Except I did.
Because he was mine.
Because no matter what they'd turned him into—what they planned to do with him—he was still tied to me in a way that rewrote everything.
I had to be careful. I had to play this right.
But gods, I wanted to see him again. Just to be sure he was okay. Just to—
The elevator doors slid open.
Time for session two.