I didn't wait for the handlers to dismiss me.
The moment the observation room cleared, I moved—down the sterile halls, each step faster than the last. My heart thudded like a war drum in my chest, loud enough to drown out Nyx's growling in my head. The scent of clinical antiseptic, the hum of fluorescent lights, the distant click of boots—none of it registered.
All I could see was him.
Kneeling.
Still.
Confused.
Obedient.
And so heartbreakingly good.
The door to his room hissed open, and I stepped through before it was even fully parted.
Nine was curled on the bed, wrapped in a blanket but still trembling. His tunic had been changed, and his hair was damp at the ends like someone had halfheartedly washed him. His fingers clutched the blanket like a lifeline. His gaze lifted the instant I entered.
And he smiled.
Small. Wobbly. Bright as ever.
"You came."
Gods.
"Of course I did."
I crossed the room, and the second I sat, he crawled into my lap like he belonged there. Like he hadn't just been used for someone else's twisted display. Like nothing had happened.
Or worse—like something had, but it was fine, because I'd said it was.
His face pressed to my chest. His arms wrapped tight around my waist.
I held him.
Stroked his hair.
Let him breathe.
We didn't speak. Not right away. I didn't know what I could say that wouldn't shatter us both.
Then he asked—softly:
"Did you like it?"
My hand froze mid-stroke.
My breath caught.
"What?" I asked, though I already knew.
His voice was soft, hopeful. "When I did what you said. When I said those things. Did I do it right?"
Nyx made a keening sound in my head.
He pulled back just enough to look up at me. "I smelled it," he said, eyes wide. "Your scent. It got stronger. The one that means you like me. It came when I said it."
I closed my eyes.
Breathed in through my nose. Out through my mouth.
He was talking about my pheromones.
The scent of love I'd released in desperation.
The last thing I had to offer him—my only rebellion.
He'd felt it.
And misunderstood.
Because of course he had.
Because that's what they'd built him to do.
He thought it meant I approved.
"Was I good?" he asked again, his voice cracking. "I remembered what you said. I didn't cry. I didn't run. I did everything. That means I'm good, right?"
Gods.
I cupped his face in both hands, gently.
"You were perfect," I said.
He smiled again.
So bright. So trusting.
Then my voice dropped to a whisper.
"Too perfect."
He blinked.
His head tilted in that way he did when he didn't understand something. When he was trying to, but the words weren't clicking.
"Then… why do you smell sad now?"
I wanted to scream.
Because he could read me like no one else. Not because of training. Because of the bond.
Because he knew me.
Because my scent betrayed what I wouldn't say.
"You didn't do anything wrong," I whispered. "Nothing."
"But I said the words."
"I know."
"You told me to."
"I did."
His fingers curled in my shirt. "And I said them."
He was waiting for affirmation. For reassurance.
For the truth to match what he needed it to be.
But the truth was jagged. It didn't fit. And I didn't know how to soften it without breaking him more.
"You did everything right," I said, and it was honest.
"Then… why?"
"Because I never wanted you to say those words. Not like that. Not for him."
His mouth parted slightly.
"You always say things to keep me safe."
"I do."
"So… it was for that."
"It was," I said. "But it still hurt you. Didn't it?"
He looked down.
Just for a second.
Then nodded.
"Not… here." He touched his chest. "But… everywhere else."
And gods, that nearly killed me.
I pulled him closer.
Held him so tightly I felt his heartbeat line up with mine.
"You shouldn't have to feel that way," I murmured.
"But I want to make you proud."
"You already do."
He nestled under my chin.
Quiet. Breathing. Thinking.
"I like when you smell like that," he said. "Like you love me."
I kissed the top of his head. "I do love you."
He smiled.
And I hated that he could still smile like that. That after everything, his first instinct wasn't anger. Or fear. Or doubt.
It was love.
Pure. Simple. Blind.
"I didn't want him to touch me," he whispered.
"I know."
"But you told me to ask."
I closed my eyes.
Tried not to let the guilt swallow me.
Tried not to scream that I'd had no choice. That if I hadn't said it, the boss would've had someone else force him into worse.
He wouldn't understand that.
Not really.
All he knew was that I'd said the words.
And he'd obeyed.
I kissed his cheek.
"I'm going to protect you. I swear."
"I am protected," he said simply. "You're here."
Nyx stirred, less wild now. Just low, mournful.
He doesn't even know he's in a cage.
I held him until his eyes started to flutter closed.
Until his breathing slowed.
And even then—
I didn't move.
Because if he woke and I wasn't there…
He might think he'd done something wrong again.
He might ask again.
If hurting had made him a good boy.
And I didn't think I could survive answering that twice.