He was different when I returned.
Not visibly. Not at first glance. He still knelt the same way, still looked up when I entered the room with that blank, beautiful face trained to react to nothing.
But his eyes had changed.
They didn't meet mine the same way.
Before, there had been curiosity. A spark, small but growing. He'd started to ask questions. Started to mirror me in ways that felt deliberate—not programmed. He had smiled, even if only once or twice.
Now, it was like someone had turned the light off again.
The moment I stepped into the room, I knew.
They've been hurting him.
Nyx stirred, slow and vicious.
They couldn't mold him, so now they're breaking him.
I approached carefully, lowering myself to the floor across from him. "Hi, Nine."
He didn't answer.
His posture was still perfect—spine straight, hands resting lightly on his thighs—but his fingers twitched. Just barely. A small betrayal of stillness.
I reached into the box of cards, pulled one out at random just to anchor the moment.
He didn't look at it.
"Nine," I said again, voice softer. "Look at me."
He did. Slowly.
His eyes were quiet.
Too quiet.
"Nine… what happened?"
Still no answer.
I dropped the card. Reached across the space between us and let my hand hover near his.
"You can tell me. Anything."
His gaze dropped to my fingers.
And then he spoke.
"They said I was changing. Too much."
My stomach tightened.
"They told me you made me soft."
I didn't breathe.
"They said I needed to be reminded what I was made for."
My vision blurred with rage. Not tears. Rage.
"They made me ask," he whispered.
"Ask?"
He nodded. "If I wanted it. If I wanted them."
My voice was low. "What did you say?"
His eyes closed. "I said yes."
Pain flared in my chest. "Why?"
His voice was barely audible. "Because it hurt less when I said yes."
Nyx howled in the back of my mind.
I clenched my jaw. Ground my nails into my palms.
"You don't have to do that anymore," I said. "Not with me."
He opened his eyes.
And for the first time, I saw it—fear.
But not fear of me. Fear of something else.
Of being discarded.
Of being unwanted.
"Nine—"
"Are you going to… use me too?"
The words hit like a slap.
My breath stopped.
He looked at me then. Really looked.
Not with blankness.
With hope.
With desperation.
I shook my head. "No. Never."
His face crumpled.
Not in horror.
Not in relief.
In rejection.
He pulled his hand away. Stood. Took two steps back.
"You don't want me," he said quietly.
I stood too, trying to close the distance. "That's not true."
His gaze stayed low. "You're supposed to want me. That's what I was made for."
"No," I said firmly. "You were made to obey, but you exist to be more. You're not—"
He turned his back to me.
"Please go."
"Nine—"
"Please."
I froze.
He was trembling.
But he didn't look at me again.
He knelt back down, perfectly posed. Head bowed. Silent.
And that was worse than anything.
Because he had chosen it.
He had chosen to go still again.
I backed away slowly.
When the door hissed shut behind me, I stood in the hallway, staring at the wall for what felt like hours.
And in my chest, the bond ached like something torn.
Like something bleeding.
They did this, Nyx whispered.
They're trying to make you lose him.
And this time…
It was working.