CHAPTER HUNDRED & SIXTY-NINE

CHAPTER HUNDRED & SIXTY-NINE

LUCIAN

The worst part wasn’t waking up.

It was realizing I hadn’t dreamed any of it.

I wanted it to be a nightmare. One of those blurry, too-bright horrors that fade with the morning light. But this wasn’t fading. This was real.

The ceiling above me was too white. Stark. Buzzing with a cold, fluorescent hum that felt like it was burrowing into my brain. The light didn’t flicker. It was steady, surgical. Too clean.

Like nothing alive had touched this place in a long, long time.

The air smelled like bleach. Like antiseptic. And something else—something metallic and sour that turned my stomach.

I was lying on a thin cot. The kind you see in documentaries about solitary confinement. There were no blankets. No pillow. Just white sheets pulled tight like they were afraid of creasing.

My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. My throat dry. My lips cracked. I tasted copper.

Blood?

I sat up too fast.

Pain detonated behind my eyes.

It wasn’t just a headache—it was like someone had shoved an ice pick into the side of my skull and twisted. My vision doubled, then tripled, then blurred into jagged slices of light and shadow.

I curled forward, arms braced over my knees, and tried not to throw up.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But the images came back in a tidal wave—Ezra strapped down, his eyes meeting mine, the click of the machine feeding from his spine, the shout, the struggle, the needle—

My father.

Watching.

Watching.

Doing nothing.

Letting it happen.

I forced myself up on shaking legs, swaying as the world tilted sideways. The walls closed in for a second—then steadied.

The room was small. Cramped.

No windows. No furniture except the cot bolted to the floor. A tiny metal sink in one corner. A steel door with no visible handle.

And in the upper corner—mounted like a spider—the camera.

A small red light blinked at me.

Watching.

Recording.

Studying.

I felt it in my spine.

They weren’t just keeping me in here. They were observing me.

My chest tightened. My lungs refused to expand fully, like the air in here wasn’t made for real breathing. Like it was thinner somehow.

I stumbled to the door and banged my fists against it.

“Let me out!” I shouted, voice cracking on the last word. “You can’t keep me in here! You drugged me!”

No response.

I slammed my fist again, harder this time. “Where is he? Where’s Ezra?!”

Silence.

The kind that wasn’t just absence of sound—it was intentional. Calculated.

I turned, fury rising fast and sharp. I slammed the flat of my hand into the wall, over and over. It hurt. I didn’t care. It made noise. It proved I was still here.

And then—

A click.

Not the door.

The ceiling.

And from a tiny speaker embedded near the camera—his voice.

Low. Steady. Calm.

My father.

“Lucian,” he said, like he was greeting me at breakfast, not watching me wake up in a locked room beneath our home.

My blood turned to ice.

His voice wasn’t cold.

It wasn’t angry.

It was… tired.

Low. Controlled. Like he was explaining something unfortunate but necessary. Like I was a line in a report that needed clarifying.

“I didn’t want you to find it this way.”

My throat burned. “You didn’t want me to find out you’ve been torturing kids under our house?”

A pause.

“You shouldn’t have been there.”

“You think that’s the problem?” I snapped. “That I walked into your little haunted lab of horrors without permission?”

“This isn’t about horror, Lucian. It’s about purpose.”

“I saw what you’re doing to him!”

“You saw one sliver of something far greater than you can understand right now.”

I stared at the camera. My hands were shaking.

I didn’t intend for you to see Ezra like that,” he said slowly. “Not yet.”

My pulse slammed against my neck.

Not yet.

“What the hell does that mean?” I snapped. “You were just going to wait until you’d finished draining the life out of him first?!”

Another pause.

Then: “He wasn’t supposed to disappear from the lower quadrant. But when he did, I… let him stay out. For a time.”

My skin prickled. “What?”

“I let him wander,” my father said, tone flat. “To see how far he’d go. How far you would go. I needed to know what kind of bond could be formed. If it would hold.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“You’re saying—” I finally breathed, “—that you knew? You knew I was talking to him? That we were becoming friends? And you just… let it happen?”

“It was important data,” he said simply. “Uncontrolled variables produce the most honest results. You were a catalyst I hadn’t planned to use. But when you found him… I realized it was the perfect opportunity.”

My stomach lurched. “You used me?”

“I studied you.”

“You manipulated me,” I growled. “You let me get attached to someone—someone who was suffering—just so you could sit in your little observation room and watch it happen?!”

“You’re emotional,” he said, as if I were a pet throwing a tantrum. “This isn’t betrayal. It’s discovery.”

“Don’t say that to me,” I hissed. “Don’t stand there and act like this is science. Like you didn’t let me fall for a friend just so you could measure how long it would take before I snapped.”

Another pause. A longer one.

Then, colder:

“I needed to see what Ezra would do outside of isolation. I needed to see what you would do with the truth. You think I enjoy this, Lucian?”

“Yes!” I shouted. “Because you didn’t stop it. You didn’t stop any of it! He’s a kid, Dad. Not a threat. Not a case file. And definitely not some experiment you get to tweak and reprogram whenever you feel like it!”

My father’s voice dipped lower. “He’s not just a boy, Lucian.”

“Yes, he is.”

“No. He isn’t.”

I stopped.

He continued. “Ezra is a product of something much bigger than you or I. He is the result of years—decades—of biological refinement. And what we’ve learned from him… what we are still learning… it will change everything.”

“Change what?” I spat. “Change who? No one asked to be part of this—especially him! You locked him up, strapped him down, cut into his back—”

“He’s unstable.”

“He’s scared!”

“He’s dangerous.”

“He’s alone!” I screamed.

My throat burned. My whole body was shaking. My heart felt like it had been thrown into a fire.

I stepped back, eyes locked on the camera above.

“You let me be his friend,” I whispered. “You let me talk to him. You knew who he was and what you were doing and you still let me sit with him by that tree. Like it meant nothing. Like he was—what? A study”

He didn’t answer that.

Of course he didn’t.

So I pressed harder.

“Is that what I am too?” I asked, softer now. “Am I just another variable? A phase in someone else’s experiment?”

“No,” he said immediately. “You are my son.”

I turned away from the speaker, chest heaving, rage crawling under my skin like fire ants. I couldn’t sit here. I couldn’t stay.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” I whispered. “I’ll find a way out. I’ll tell Mom. I’ll tell Kyle. I’ll tell the world if I have to.”

“Then I’ve misjudged you,” he said evenly. “I thought you’d understand. I thought, after seeing what we’re capable of, you might even want to help.”

“I’d rather burn this whole place down.”

There was silence.

Then a soft click—the mic going dead.

I was alone again.

But not helpless.

Because now I knew the truth. All of it.

Ezra had been thrown to me like bait.

And I’d bitten down like a fool.

But now?

Now I’d fight.

If it killed me—I’d tear down the lab.

And I’d take Ezra with me.