He was trying.
Gods, he was trying so hard.
Nine stood in the center of the training mat, spine straight, hands folded neatly in his lap, expression as blank as they'd taught him. He didn't move unless commanded. Didn't speak unless spoken to. His breathing was shallow. Controlled. He looked every inch the perfect pet they'd sculpted him into.
But it wasn't enough.
"Again," the instructor snapped from across the room.
Nine flinched—barely.
But I saw it.
The minute tremble in his fingers. The twitch beneath his eye. The way his lips parted just slightly like he was trying to draw in more air than he could hold.
"Still too much variance," the instructor muttered, scribbling something onto his datapad. "He hesitated. You'll need to correct that."
He didn't say how.
He never had to.
I stepped forward, crop already in hand. My body moved on instinct. Smooth. Efficient.
Dead.
Nine's gaze lifted to mine. Open. Hopeful.
"I… I did it right," he said softly, voice cracking. "Didn't I?"
Nyx whimpered in the back of my mind.
Don't you dare. Don't you lay a finger on him.
But if I didn't—
They'd step in.
They'd hurt him for real.
They'd question me. Punish him. Strip away the only soft thing he still had left.
"He's seeking reassurance," the instructor said, tone clipped. "Redirect. Reinforce consequence. Don't reward."
I tightened my grip on the crop.
Nine was still looking at me like I held the entire sky in my hands.
Like he hadn't just been publicly humiliated.
Like he wasn't trembling.
I lifted the crop.
Nine's lips parted, confusion flickering across his face.
And then, for the first time since I met him—he started to cry.
Not loudly.
Not messily.
Just two quiet tears slipping down his cheeks, like even they were afraid of being too loud. He didn't wipe them away. He didn't even seem to realize they were there.
"I don't understand," he whispered. "I was good. I remembered everything. I… I thought I was good."
The instructor scoffed. "That emotional clinginess is a flaw. He's still too human. You'll need to break that down. Harden the bond. Erase the dependency on affection."
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.
Break him, they meant.
Break him until he doesn't feel anything anymore.
Nine dropped to his knees suddenly, folding like paper. His hands shook where they rested on the mat. He bowed his head, small sounds escaping his throat.
"Please," he said. "Tell me what I did wrong. I'll fix it. I'll fix it, I promise. Just don't—don't stop looking at me. Please don't be mad…"
I moved before I could stop myself.
Dropped to my knees in front of him.
Touched his shoulder—just a whisper of contact.
He froze.
Then leaned into it like he might fall apart if I pulled away.
The instructor's voice cut through like a blade. "Too soft, Handler. He needs to understand failure has consequence. Not comfort."
I turned my head slowly.
Forced my mouth into a cold, detached smile. "Understood."
He tilted his head, suspicious, but didn't argue.
I looked back at Nine.
His eyes were still wet.
Still wide.
"Rhea…" he breathed.
I leaned in, close enough that my words wouldn't carry.
"You did everything right," I whispered. "You were perfect."
He blinked.
"But the punishment—"
"Shh," I said. "Just play along. Just for a little while longer."
Then I stood.
Lifted the crop.
And brought it down, feather-light, across his thigh.
He didn't flinch.
Because he understood now.
Because he trusted me.
The instructor made a sound of approval. "Better."
But it wasn't.
None of this was better.
Because Nine was still kneeling.
Still crying.
And still trying to understand how pain and praise could exist in the same breath.
I gave a few more commands. Short ones. Mechanical. Practiced.
He obeyed them all without hesitation.
Then the instructor called an end to the session, making notes about compliance, submission, and corrected behavior.
And then he left.
Finally.
Silence fell.
I dropped the crop like it burned me.
Nine looked up at me, still kneeling, his cheeks streaked with tears.
"Did I do better that time?" he asked.
Gods.
I knelt beside him.
Pulled him into my arms.
Held him as close as I could.
"You were perfect," I whispered again.
He didn't say anything.
Just trembled.
And buried his face in my chest.
Nyx's voice came soft and bitter in my mind.
He won't survive much more of this.
And the terrifying part was—
Neither would I.