I was supposed to see him that morning.
Another session. Another hour with Nine. Another quiet moment where he could take one more step toward feeling like a person again.
But that didn't happen.
The summons came just after dawn, delivered by one of the higher-ranked enforcers. No name, no reason—just a curt order.
"Change. You're going with the next outbound transport."
I didn't ask questions.
You didn't, in a place like this.
They handed me a data slate with the route mapped out and the list of crates I'd be expected to verify. The manifest didn't say what was inside them—but I already knew. It didn't matter whether it was weapons or narcotics or trafficked hybrids. The stink of it was always the same.
Kol was waiting by the transport bay, leaning against the armored van with a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
"Didn't think they'd send you again so soon," he muttered.
I didn't respond.
He opened the passenger door. "Let's go."
The trip was long and silent, the van rattling down back routes designed to avoid checkpoints. The landscape blurred into grey. Factories. Abandoned train lines. Empty lots that smelled like rust and damp.
And the whole time, I kept thinking about Nine.
I wondered if he was waiting for me. If he'd looked up when the door opened and realized it wasn't me who walked in. If he'd thought he'd done something wrong.
He doesn't understand change, Nyx whispered. Only absence.
My fingers curled into fists.
I should've told someone. Left a message. Anything. But it had happened too fast.
And now I was here, riding shotgun in a van full of death while the only soul in that place who was trying to wake up might be slipping back into the dark.
"You okay?" Kol asked after a while.
I didn't look at him. "Fine."
He snorted. "Sure."
We made the first drop just before dusk. A man with too many rings and not enough patience took the crates without checking them.
The crew was already loading the next batch when Kol turned to me. "We're staying overnight. Orders changed."
I didn't hide my annoyance. "Why?"
"Something about the roads not being secure after dark." He shrugged. "Or maybe they just don't want you back too fast."
I didn't sleep that night.
I sat by the van, watching the stars blink coldly overhead, and imagined Nine's face when the instructor told him to beg.
I imagined his voice saying please again.
And I made a decision.
This wasn't going to happen again.
They could delay me. Distract me. Send me halfway across the region. But the next time I walked through that door—
I was going to start a war.
The delays kept piling up.
One drop turned into three. Then seven. Then a side mission involving a contact gone rogue who had to be "handled." Apparently, my presence was useful. I was calm. Precise. Easy to work with.
And silent.
Two weeks passed.
Fourteen days of cold truck stops, seedy warehouse fronts, and coded messages. Fourteen days of watching cargo change hands without blinking. Of confirming shipments I didn't care about and pretending I didn't notice the cages, or the barely-sedated hybrids lined up in the dark.
Kol didn't ask questions, but he noticed the shift in me.
"You've been quiet," he said one night while we refueled near a barbed-wire fence and a gas station that looked like it hadn't had power in a decade.
"I'm always quiet," I replied.
"Yeah, but this is a new level." He paused. "Something back at base?"
I didn't answer.
Because if I said his name—Nine—out loud, I wasn't sure what I'd do next.
I kept myself composed. Did the work. Followed the plan.
But every time I closed my eyes, I saw Nine kneeling.
Alone.
Waiting.
And I felt the bond stretch thinner.
Not break—but ache.
And the longer I stayed away, the more I feared what I'd find when I came back.
On the fifteenth day, I finally sent a message through one of the internal networks. It was encrypted. Untraceable.
Just a single sentence:
"Check on Hybrid Unit 009. Confirm current condition."
No reply came.
But I knew they got it.
And I knew I'd just painted a target on his back.
Because the moment they suspected I cared—really cared—about one of their assets, they'd use it.
They'd twist it.
And if I wasn't careful, they'd take him away from me before I even made it back.
So I began planning.
Not for survival.
For retaliation.
For war.