I didn't go back right away.
I lingered outside Nine's room, fingers cold against the keypad, staring at the dull steel of the door like it was a decision I wasn't ready to make. Inside, he was waiting. Probably curled up in his corner, still smelling faintly like the boss's cologne. Still believing that I might not return.
I hated this place. Hated its hallways, its lights, its endless hum of control. But most of all, I hated how it was changing me.
And it was.
The meeting hadn't ended with just the boss's orders. The rest of the instructors had talked about timelines, projections, reinforcements. They'd planned out the surgeries like someone was upgrading a car. Not a person. Not a boy with white hair and eyes like mist.
They'd said the words so easily: uterus, scent glands, vulva. A list of ingredients, not parts of someone who still knelt to me like I was the only thing that made sense in his life.
And I hadn't argued.
I'd nodded. Stayed still. Played the part of the handler.
Even now, standing outside his room, I wasn't angry the way I should have been.
I was… curious.
What would he be like, afterward?
What would happen when he wasn't just emotionally compliant, but chemically aligned with everything they'd forced him to become?
What would he smell like when the scent glands were installed—omega-sweet and heat-ripe?
Would he cling to me more? Whimper when I touched him?
Would he nuzzle into my neck and whine when I pulled away?
The thought sickened me.
The thought thrilled me.
I opened the door.
He looked up instantly.
Not with hope. Not yet. That had been burned out of him earlier. But with attention. With something close to relief.
He was sitting on the floor, blanket over his shoulders, back to the wall. His posture was still too perfect. Still folded too neatly, hands in his lap like he was preparing for inspection. But his eyes softened when they landed on me.
"Hey," I said softly.
He didn't respond.
Just blinked.
I crossed the room and sat beside him without asking. He didn't flinch, didn't move away. He just shifted slightly so our shoulders brushed.
Close.
Closer than usual.
He wanted the contact.
He wants to be touched now.
I hesitated, then let my hand drift to his hair.
He leaned into it immediately.
Nyx murmured softly in my head. He missed you.
I knew that.
I could feel it in the tension melting from his spine, the way his breath slowed as my fingers threaded through his hair. He didn't ask anything. Didn't expect words. Just… received the touch like it was water in a desert.
And I thought about what the boss said.
About the surgeries. About the modifications.
Make him addictive.
Make him desirable.
They weren't just reshaping him for clients.
They were reshaping him for me.
I'd seen it in the way the boss looked at me when he'd said, You'll continue guiding him emotionally. Like I was part of the design. Like he wanted to see how far I'd go if the bond was left to bloom.
Nine was mine.
But not just as a mate.
As an experiment.
As a fantasy made flesh.
And the worst part?
I was starting to understand the appeal.
He rested his head on my shoulder.
I stroked his back.
His body was warm. Small. Carefully shaped. Made to be soft in every place that mattered. Designed to yield. And he did—without hesitation.
They were going to make him even more yielding.
More submissive.
More… perfect.
And some ugly part of me whispered: Good.
I froze.
Nine made a soft sound—not quite a whimper, more a question. Like he'd noticed the shift in my breathing.
I smoothed my hand down his spine again. "Sorry," I murmured.
He said nothing.
He never asked what I thought about the things they planned.
He didn't even know most of it.
Would he understand what it meant, if I told him? Would he even care?
He was so far gone into what they'd shaped him to be that I wasn't sure where the original boy ended and the programming began.
And maybe that was the point.
Maybe the only parts of him that had survived were the ones clinging to me.
The ones still reaching when I tried to walk away.
He moved then—slowly, cautiously—turning so he could curl into my lap.
His fingers clutched at the hem of my shirt, like he needed to anchor himself. Like he was afraid I'd vanish again if he let go.
I pulled the blanket around him more securely. Rested my chin on the crown of his head.
He let out a tiny breath.
Peaceful. Soft.
Like he'd been holding it in until now.
And still, the thoughts returned.
He's going to change.
They'll cut into him. Stitch new things inside. Build a body meant for pleasure, not his.
But he'll look the same.
Sound the same.
Smell different.
Nyx was pacing again in my mind. Not snarling this time. Just… watching.
You're getting used to it, she said.
"I know," I whispered aloud.
Nine shifted at my voice, but didn't look up.
"I don't want to be okay with this," I said. "I don't want to want what they're turning him into."
Nyx didn't answer.
Because she knew, too.
It wasn't just that I wanted to protect him.
It was that I wanted him.
Even if they built him to be desired.
Even if it wasn't real.
Even if he only ever offered because he was taught to.
Some part of me wanted to take him anyway.
And that terrified me more than anything else.