They gave me a clipboard and a neutral white coat, like dressing me in lab colors would make me forget what I was walking into.
It didn't.
If anything, it made everything worse. Like they wanted me to play the part of the observer. Detached. Professional. As if I hadn't spent weeks trying to hold together what they were so determined to pull apart.
The air was colder down here. Thicker. There were no friendly greetings. No idle chatter. Just silence. Efficient. Intentional.
I signed in. Got my temporary credentials. Swiped my way through the locked checkpoint. And finally, I stood outside the door to the chamber.
Inside, I could already smell him.
Nine.
His scent was faint but distinct. Softly sweet, undercut with a nervous sharpness. No heat yet. No desperation. But it was there, humming just beneath the surface like a warning.
They were prepping him.
Nyx pressed hard into the front of my mind. Don't flinch. Don't look away. He'll be looking for us.
The handler on duty looked up when I entered. A nod. No words. Just a gesture toward the wall panel, where the biometric feed had already begun streaming data.
Heart rate: Elevated.
Temperature: Normal, trending upward.
Scent markers: Shifting.
And then I saw him.
Nine was on the bench, reclined slightly. Still clothed. Still breathing normally. His eyes were open and unfocused, gaze flicking toward the ceiling light as if it fascinated him. A soft leather strap lay loosely around one wrist, not fastened yet.
He turned his head when the door hissed.
His gaze found mine instantly.
Not confused.
Not alarmed.
Just watching.
He blinked.
And then — smiled.
Small. Tired. But real.
Like he was relieved.
I crossed to the far end of the room, near the wall-mounted displays, and took my place behind the observation line. They'd asked me not to speak unless prompted. "To avoid emotional contamination," they said.
I didn't respond.
Didn't need to.
They didn't know the bond was already bleeding through every inch of the room.
One of the instructors entered next. Clipboard, gloves, medical bag.
He moved to Nine's side.
"Protocol 6-HX4, dosage level B," he said aloud, more for the cameras than for us. "Prepare for injection."
Nine flinched.
Only a little.
But his hands curled tighter in his lap.
The instructor didn't notice. He was already opening the syringe pack.
Let me out, Nyx growled. Let me just scratch him once. I won't even kill him. I'll just ruin his hands.
I stayed where I was. Barely breathing.
The instructor knelt beside Nine. Gloved fingers pushed his pant leg up and found the inner thigh.
"You'll feel warm in a few minutes," he said, as if Nine understood what that meant.
The needle slid in.
Nine didn't make a sound.
But his scent shifted almost immediately.
Like something opened.
Flooded.
Rising in waves.
I gripped the edge of the wall panel.
The instructor rose and secured the wrist restraints, then the ankles. Loose, at first. Adjustable.
Nine blinked slowly. His breathing hitched once. Then again.
Then he looked at me.
And I saw it.
The first flicker of discomfort.
Not pain. Not yet.
But the beginning.
It's starting.
The instructor stepped back and made a few notes. Another staffer entered and dimmed the lights slightly. A warm-toned glow replaced the sterile white.
Nine's chest was rising faster now.
His fingers twitched.
His knees shifted.
Still no words.
Still no resistance.
Just a slow, steady unraveling.
He turned his head toward me again, and this time he held the gaze.
Longer.
His lips parted.
Not to speak.
Just to breathe.
His scent had changed.
Rich now. Thicker. Clinging to the air like honey left in the sun.
The handler wrote something down. "Responsive. Scent trigger at ninety seconds."
I felt my stomach clench.
Nyx clawed at my insides.
He's in pain. He just doesn't know what to call it.
I took a step forward. Just one.
Enough to let him see I was closer.
His eyes followed me.
He blinked again.
Then he whimpered.
Not loud.
Not pitiful.
Just raw.
It cracked something in my chest.
And before I could think about the cameras, about the orders, about the rules—
I released my pheromones.
Low. Gentle. Not aggressive.
Soothing.
The air shifted.
Nine blinked.
Then his body eased slightly.
Just slightly.
But it was enough.
He knew I was still there.
He knew I was still his.
And the session hadn't even truly begun.