Nine woke before the lights did.
I felt the shift beside me, soft and subtle, his body adjusting as he stretched beneath the thin blanket. His breath evened out again, slower than before, then came the light press of his head against my shoulder. A soft, instinctive movement.
I didn't open my eyes right away. Didn't need to.
He always did this now—waited for me to move first. Like he wasn't sure he was allowed to exist until I gave him permission.
So I let my hand drift up, threading gently through his hair, combing it back from his face the way I had last night, until his breath hitched.
"Hi," he said, voice still thick with sleep.
I opened my eyes.
He was smiling.
Not a wide smile. Not confident. But soft. Tentative. Hopeful.
And it damn near shattered me.
I forced a smile in return. "Hi."
His fingers curled into the fabric at my side. "Are you staying all day?"
My throat tightened. "I wish I could."
He frowned. "Session?"
I nodded.
He lowered his gaze. "Will it be bad?"
The way he said it wasn't afraid. Not really. Not anymore. He was already bracing for it. Already preparing. Like someone who'd learned the language of pain and was just trying to read the next line in the script.
I sat up slowly, then turned to him fully, brushing his bangs away from his face. "There's someone else coming today."
He blinked. "Instructor?"
"No. Higher. The boss."
Nine's eyes didn't widen. He just stilled.
"He might…" I hesitated, trying to choose my words. "He might yell. Or touch. Or—"
I stopped.
He finished for me.
"Like the others?"
I nodded.
Nine didn't ask anything else. He just nodded once, pulled the blanket tighter around himself, and murmured, "Okay."
It wasn't okay.
None of this was.
But he was trying.
I stood and walked toward the door. "I'm going to get breakfast," I said. "Wait here, okay?"
He nodded again.
And I stepped out into the corridor.
The staff kitchen was buzzing with early chatter. I kept my head down, moving to the counter where the trays were being assembled for those on active assignment.
When the kitchen attendant saw me, he smiled. "For Hybrid 009's handler?"
"Yes."
He frowned, checked a tablet, then looked back up. "He's not permitted food this morning."
I blinked. "Why?"
"Directive from upstairs. The boss wants a clear physical read—wants to see how he responds under strain."
My stomach turned.
"You still get yours though," he added, gesturing toward a covered tray.
I stared at it.
Eggs. Toast. Fruit.
Normal. Comforting.
I almost said no.
Almost left it behind.
But if I skipped a meal after the boss explicitly said I could eat, it would raise flags. Everything here was monitored. Everything was noted.
So I took the tray.
Carried it back to Nine's quarters like it weighed a thousand pounds.
He was sitting up when I returned. Knees drawn to his chest. Waiting.
I set the tray down on the floor between us.
His eyes flicked to it.
Then to me.
Then away again.
"You're not eating?" he asked.
I hesitated. "I am."
He nodded.
But he didn't speak again.
Just sat there. Watching.
While I picked up the fork.
While I chewed each bite.
While I pretended not to see the way his throat bobbed every time he swallowed back nothing.
He didn't cry.
Didn't complain.
But his shoulders curled inward. Just a little.
And I knew the spiral had already begun.
Nyx stirred.
They're starving him to see if he breaks. That's not training. That's torture.
"I know," I whispered.
He thinks he did something wrong.
"I know."
Nyx growled low. I'm done waiting.
"Not yet."
But even as I said it, I knew I was losing my grip.
Because if this was how the day started—
Gods help us both for what came next.
After the meal, I excused myself and brought the tray back to the kitchens. I needed an excuse to breathe. A reason to be out of that room. A reason to blink back the shame clinging to my skin like sweat.
When I returned, Nine was still sitting where I left him, but now his arms were wrapped around his knees. He was rocking ever so slightly.
The moment I stepped inside, he looked up.
His expression didn't accuse me. Didn't blame. But it was hollow in a way I couldn't stand.
"I can be better," he whispered. "I can fix it."
I knelt in front of him immediately. "You didn't do anything wrong."
He shook his head. "He doesn't want me to eat. That means I did something wrong."
"No," I said, firmer. "That means he wants control. That's not about you. It's about him."
He blinked slowly. "But they said hunger makes us more obedient."
My hands curled into fists on my knees. "You are not a machine to be tuned."
He tilted his head. "But I was made."
"You were born."
He looked down again, not believing me. Or maybe not knowing how.
Nyx's voice was razor-sharp now. Say the word. I'll end him before the sun sets.
"Not yet," I murmured.
But even I could feel it—our patience was fraying.
Soon, it wouldn't be a question of if.
Only when.
The rest of the morning passed in slow, stifled silence. I didn't try to coax Nine into conversation. I just stayed close. Sat beside him on the mat, letting our arms brush every so often. I didn't offer more touches than he asked for, but when he leaned against me, I let him.
He drifted in and out of a half-sleep state, his body clearly tired. The hunger weighed him down.
But more than that, it was the fear.
Not terror. Not panic. A quieter kind. The fear of being wrong, of disappointing someone who held power over your body and your worth.
Of disappointing me.
It was that thought—more than any threat the boss posed—that made my stomach twist.
He still thought this was somehow his fault.
Still believed that if he smiled enough, stayed still enough, obeyed fast enough, it would make the pain go away.
And I didn't know how to explain that it wouldn't.
That the system didn't work like that.
That the pain was the point.