It was midmorning when the door opened.
Nine and I both turned our heads, but only one of us flinched.
The instructor stepped inside with the kind of brisk, emotionless efficiency that always made my skin crawl. Clipboard in hand. Boots polished. Eyes already scanning the space like it was a performance stage.
"Routine discipline," he said simply. "Per directive."
Nine didn't move.
But I felt the shift in him.
The way he exhaled slowly, like preparing himself for a blow.
I rose to my feet, placing myself between them. "Is this really necessary? He hasn't done anything—"
The man didn't even look at me. "Orders are orders."
Then, without warning, he added, "Today's method has been updated. We're instructed to test proximity-based behavioral response."
My mouth went dry.
He turned to Nine. "Come here."
Nine stood slowly. Obedient. He didn't look scared. Just… resigned.
"Lie across her lap," the instructor said.
The silence stretched.
I blinked. "What?"
The man's eyes finally met mine. "Your lap. We're testing his reactions in the presence of his assigned emotional contact."
I should have refused.
Should have said something. Anything.
But Nine was already walking toward me.
Already lowering himself, careful and slow.
Until his slight body draped across my thighs, soft and warm and trembling.
I froze.
His hands were pressed to the floor. His cheek rested against my knee. I could feel every shallow breath he took.
And when the first stroke of the cane landed—
He flinched.
Not from pain.
But from proximity.
From the way his muscles shifted against mine.
From the way I could feel every reaction like it was my own.
The second strike landed. Sharper.
Nine whimpered.
My hands clenched around the fabric of my pants, knuckles white.
The third hit broke him.
Not with a scream. Not even with words.
Just a soft sound. A gasp. A breathless cry that buried itself into the skin of my leg like it belonged there.
And I couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Because this wasn't just torture.
It was humiliation. Ritualized and deliberate.
He wasn't just being punished.
He was being trained.
With me as the tool.
Nyx howled inside me.
He's touching our mate. Hurting him. While we sit here and watch.
I wanted to rip the man's throat out.
I wanted to throw the cane across the room and pull Nine into my arms and promise him he'd never be touched again.
But I couldn't move.
Couldn't risk it.
Because if I pushed too hard, they'd take me away.
And Nine would still be here.
Still on someone's lap.
Only next time, it wouldn't be mine.
The session went on far too long.
Ten lashes. Then twelve.
Then fifteen.
Each one slower. Deliberate. Calculated. The instructor paused between every set, watching how Nine tensed and then stilled. How he breathed. How his body trembled and then adjusted.
And I sat there. Stiff and silent. Trying to stay perfectly still even as my own body screamed.
Somewhere after the fifteenth, Nine gave up holding back the sounds. They came soft. Barely audible. Each one pierced through me like a shard of broken glass.
At one point, I placed a hand against his back. A useless gesture. But he stilled beneath it. Didn't flinch. Just… accepted it.
Accepted me.
As if my presence somehow softened the edge of each strike.
When the final lash landed, the instructor gave a short nod and stepped back. "Satisfactory."
I didn't reply.
I couldn't.
My throat was raw from holding down the scream clawing its way up.
The door shut behind him.
Nine didn't move.
He stayed draped across my lap like he didn't know where else to go. His breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. I could feel every one of them.
I reached up with shaking fingers and stroked his hair.
Softly.
Gently.
Again and again.
He exhaled. A shudder more than a sigh.
Then he whispered, "I didn't mess up today, did I?"
"No," I said.
My voice was rough. Barely audible.
"You're not mad?"
"No, Nine. Never."
He shifted just enough to curl his fingers into the fabric of my trousers.
Then he whispered, "Can you pet me more?"
I did.
I stroked his hair until the tension bled from his shoulders.
Until his breaths evened out.
Until I felt the tiniest tremble of peace settle into his bones.
But it wasn't peace.
Not really.
It was survival.
And the part of me that could no longer tell the difference was what scared me most.
Because this place was changing me, too.