I heard it before I saw it.
A sound too soft for anyone else to notice. But to me—to my wolf—it was as loud as a scream.
A whimper.
High-pitched. Choked. Fragile.
Nyx froze in my head, ears up, breath gone.
And I knew.
My steps faltered, and I moved forward more cautiously now, heart crawling up into my throat. The hallway was dimly lit, shadows clinging to the pristine floor and mirrored walls. The air was sterile, tinged with that faint antiseptic coldness that clung to every inch of this place.
The door was already cracked open.
I didn't need to see. I already knew.
But I looked anyway.
Nine knelt near the centre of the room, shirtless. His posture was perfect—too perfect—like someone had drawn his spine with a ruler. But there was a tremble in his arms. A shallow hitch in his breath. His hands hung limp at his sides, fingers curled like he was trying not to reach for help.
Behind him, the instructor raised the cane again.
It cracked through the air, a terrible whistle that landed with a muffled snap against skin.
Nine didn't make a sound.
But he flinched.
Barely—but it was there. His body twitched and steadied again, and his head stayed low, eyes somewhere on the floor. Resigned. Dutiful.
But scared. I could see it.
I was across the room before I'd decided to move.
"What the hell is going on here?"
The words left my mouth low and controlled, but the edge of something feral lived underneath them. The instructor startled slightly, clearly not expecting anyone else to show up. His gaze flicked to me, cool and unimpressed.
"Assessment protocol," he said simply. "Behavioral reinforcement."
"You're beating him."
"I'm instructing him."
He said it like it was the same thing.
My fists clenched. "That's not what I was told this program involved."
"You're not cleared for training supervision." He stepped back, placing the cane on the table like it was just a tool, not a weapon. "You're here for emotional modeling. Leave the rest to us."
I didn't move. My eyes were still on Nine.
There were faint pink lines on his back now. Raised. Fresh. I didn't know how many. I didn't want to know.
Nyx growled low in my head. "Ours."
"I want to speak with him alone," I said.
The instructor hesitated for a beat. Then, with a sharp nod, he left the room.
The door hissed shut behind him.
And for a moment, the only sound was Nine's breathing.
I approached slowly. "Nine?"
His head tilted toward me, his face expressionless. That strange calm again. But his lashes were wet. And his lips were slightly parted, like he was trying to remember how to speak.
I stopped a few feet away and crouched to his level.
"I'm sorry," I said softly.
His eyes flicked to mine.
"For yesterday," I continued. "I left too fast. I didn't mean to scare you."
Still no answer. But something in his shoulders shifted—minutely. Like the tension eased just a little.
"I wasn't upset at you," I said. "I… I was overwhelmed. That's not your fault."
Nothing.
I tried again. "Did it… hurt you? When I left?"
His mouth parted just a little more. Not quite a reaction. Not quite nothing.
But it was something.
"Did I hurt you, Nine?" I asked again, quieter this time.
He blinked slowly. His hand moved to touch his own chest. Then he looked at me again.
And nodded.
It was the smallest motion. A single dip of the head.
But it hit me like a blade.
I exhaled shakily and sat back on my heels.
"I'm so sorry."
He didn't look angry. He didn't look like anything. But he moved closer—just a little. Like he was trying to show me he forgave me, even if he didn't know the word for it.
I reached out a hand, palm up. I didn't touch him this time.
Nine looked at it. Then placed his fingers on mine. Light. Barely there. But present.
And that was enough.
We sat like that for a long while. Just existing in the same space.
Eventually, I helped him to the small bench in the corner. He sat, obedient as ever, but his gaze kept flicking toward me. Curious. Searching. Like he was trying to understand me.
"I don't know how I'm supposed to help you," I said honestly. "But I'm going to try."
He tilted his head slightly.
"I don't think you were made to be anyone's toy," I added. "And I know that's what they want. But it's not what you are. Not to me."
His expression didn't change. But his fingers curled into the sleeve of my shirt. Just barely.
He stayed like that until the door opened again.
And I already knew what I had to do next.