He was still asleep.
Tucked against me like a secret.
His breathing had finally evened out, soft and rhythmic, and the sweat on his brow had cooled into something harmless. I'd tucked the blanket around him, drawn close enough for him to feel my warmth without being caged by it.
And still, even in sleep, his fingers curled around mine.
But I couldn't rest.
Not with the words echoing in my head.
Love you.
Barely a whisper. Slurred from heat and desperation.
But it had happened.
And someone had heard it.
I'd seen the twitch of one of the instructor's brows. The way another glanced quickly at the biometric screen when the audio log caught that soft, broken breath of sound.
Love you.
He hadn't meant to say it. He probably didn't even know what it meant.
But the others would.
They'd twist it.
Weaponize it.
Or worse—see it as something to sever.
I sat up slowly, careful not to wake him, and pressed the heel of my palm to my forehead.
Think.
Nyx was quiet. Watching.
They'll use this. They'll try to separate you. Or use it against him. Against us.
He murmured something in his sleep and shifted slightly, his face nuzzling into the space between my hip and ribcage.
I felt my chest constrict.
There was no good way out of this.
He had bonded to me—even if he didn't know the word. Even if they thought it was just a behavioral quirk, a dependency. And when they realized how deep it went…
Would they reassign me?
Would they take him away?
Would they punish him for it?
He wasn't supposed to love. He was engineered to be obedient, not loyal. Beautiful, not bonded.
But he had bonded.
And now every minute felt like a countdown.
I slid off the bench gently, lowering his head to the pillow and smoothing the hair away from his eyes. He sighed and shifted, but didn't stir.
I checked the time.
Three hours since the end of the session.
The hall outside was empty when I slipped through the door, closing it carefully behind me.
The second I hit the corridor, I heard it.
Muffled voices behind the observation glass.
Two instructors. Maybe three.
Talking about him.
"...too attached."
"Unusual verbalization during peak."
"Handler Nyx's scent registered on every biometric curve."
"Emotional imprinting is stronger than projected."
I pressed closer to the wall, jaw clenched.
"Might need to limit her exposure."
"Or recalibrate subject."
No. No, no, no.
Nyx surged against my skin. They touch him, they die.
But killing them now wouldn't save him. It would only leave him alone.
I needed a plan.
I needed to buy time.
I forced my breathing to slow.
Think like them.
They were scientists. Handlers. Programmers. They didn't understand bonds, but they understood results.
If Nine became more useful because of his bond with me—if he performed better, obeyed more, reacted faster—they'd see it as an asset, not a threat.
Which meant I needed to show them exactly that.
A tool.
Not a mate.
A perfect, docile omega, made more efficient through my presence.
And I needed to become the kind of handler who could be trusted to weaponize affection without succumbing to it.
I swallowed bile.
Because I would play their game.
I would smile.
I would file reports.
I would watch every movement, every word, every reaction.
And I would feed them data that said:
Keep her close. He works better that way.
I would lie, every day if I had to, to keep him safe.
But I couldn't protect him if he knew.
If he saw the fear I felt.
If he sensed I was afraid to lose him.
So when I opened the door again, I smiled.
Soft.
Gentle.
Controlled.
Nine stirred, blinking slowly as I knelt beside him.
His eyes found mine.
And he whispered, "You came back."
I brushed his hair back and kissed his temple.
"Of course I did."
He smiled.
And I held him.
Pretending I wasn't falling apart.
Pretending I wasn't already planning a war.