They arrived together. The boss and the others.
A wall of power in pressed suits and predatory smiles.
The moment they stepped into the observation room, the atmosphere shifted—thicker, colder, electric with tension. The instructors flanked the walls like statues, their eyes glittering with anticipation. The mirrors in the corners blinked red, confirming that everything was being recorded.
I stood in the corner, trying to disappear into the shadows, even though I knew eyes were on me too.
The boss didn't acknowledge me.
He didn't have to.
He only had eyes for Nine.
The omega was standing in the center of the training floor, trembling. Not from fear. Not only from that. But from the weight of so many gazes bearing down on him like a spotlight. His white hair, still a little mussed from the earlier session, caught the light in a way that made him look almost otherworldly.
He didn't look at me.
I didn't blame him.
I couldn't save him from this.
"Begin," the boss said, his voice smooth and cool like polished glass.
The handlers moved at once. Coordinated. Efficient.
One tugged at Nine's shirt. Another at the clasp of his pants.
No words. No hesitation.
They stripped him with practiced detachment.
Nine didn't fight.
Didn't flinch.
He just stood there, arms at his sides, as one article of clothing after another was removed. Shirt. Undershirt. Trousers. Underwear.
Until he stood naked, pale skin on full display beneath the sterile lighting.
Every scar.
Every bruise.
Every mark from earlier sessions.
His knees wobbled slightly, but he didn't fall.
"Posture sequence," someone called.
Immediately, hands touched him again—lifting his arms, adjusting his stance, forcing him into poses. Arms overhead. Legs spread. Kneeling. Bending. Turning to the side.
His head was tilted back, his neck exposed.
Fingers brushed down his spine.
Across his chest.
Between his legs.
Like they were showing off a prototype.
The boss stood in front of him, arms crossed behind his back. "Remarkable craftsmanship," he murmured. "They've outdone themselves."
I couldn't breathe.
My stomach churned.
But I didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Because I couldn't.
Nyx was snarling in my skull, pacing like a caged animal.
They're touching him. Displaying him. Parading him like he's nothing.
I clenched my fists behind my back. Nails bit into my palms.
It didn't help.
Nothing could.
"Response conditioning," said one of the senior handlers.
They made Nine kneel again—lower, this time. His face just above waist-level with the boss.
He blinked up slowly, dazed.
One of the instructors touched the back of his head.
Guided him forward.
Then someone said my name.
"Rhea."
I looked up, startled.
The boss tilted his head. "Let's see how he performs when it's you giving the command."
My stomach dropped.
"I—"
"Go on," he said. "He trusts you. Use that. Show us how well he listens."
Nine was still kneeling, his eyes locked on mine now. Wide. Open. Understanding.
He knew.
He understood what was happening. That I didn't want this. That I couldn't stop it.
And worse—he didn't blame me.
That broke something in me.
I forced my voice to work. "Nine," I said quietly.
He straightened slightly at the sound of his name.
"Lift your chin."
He did.
"Open your mouth."
His lips parted.
I hesitated.
The next words caught in my throat, but I felt the boss's gaze on me, sharp and expectant. The others were watching too. Recording. Judging.
So I said it.
"Be a good boy for the boss."
A flicker passed over Nine's face.
Hurt.
It was subtle—just the tiniest tremble in his lower lip, the slightest retreat in his eyes.
But I saw it.
He thought I was giving him away.
Handing him over like he didn't belong to himself.
And he obeyed anyway.
There were murmurs of approval behind the glass.
"Good," the boss said, pleased. "Very good."
Then came the part I wouldn't say.
Couldn't.
Someone else stepped in and gave the final order.
I shut my eyes.
But the sounds—
Those I couldn't block out.
Not the instructions.
Not Nine's obedience.
Not the praise given like poison from a smiling mouth.
And not the quiet, barely-there sounds Nine made—the ones that told me his mind had gone somewhere far away.
Somewhere safe.
Or at least, safer than here.
I stood frozen while the boss took what he wanted.
He was rough. He was pleased. He said things I would never forget.
At one point, he looked at me and smirked. "He performs so beautifully for you. You've trained him better than expected."
Nyx's voice rose in fury. Kill him.
I dug my nails into my palms again.
Nine didn't scream.
Didn't make a sound.
But tears tracked down his face, silent and unacknowledged.
The boss grunted softly—like it was a mild workout.
Then, when it was over, he pulled away with a satisfied hum.
"Still beautiful," he said, smoothing his coat. "Even with tears."
He turned to the instructors. "Continue the emotional programming. I want him soft. Moldable. But I don't want the shine worn off."
Then, almost as an afterthought, he looked at me.
"You've done well," he said. "He responds beautifully to you. Keep it up."
I didn't respond.
Couldn't.
If I opened my mouth, I might scream.
They left one by one.
Leaving me alone with Nine.
Still bent over the bench.
Still not moving.
I crossed the room slowly.
Kneeling beside him, I reached out—gently—fingertips brushing his shoulder.
He flinched.
Then looked at me.
His eyes were glassy. Not blank. Not gone.
Just far away.
I whispered his name.
He blinked.
Then collapsed into me.
I caught him as he folded. Curled around him. Held him as he shook.
Not crying. Not sobbing.
Just trembling.
I pressed my lips to his temple.
"I'm here," I said.
"I've got you."
Even if no one else would.