Chapter 23

Chapter 23
Nyra 
I’m not sure when the shift happens. Maybe it’s the third day after my interview. Maybe it’s the way I keep my eyes steady during debriefs, or the way I don’t ask stupid questions, or how I never linger too long on the camera feeds like the others do when a wolf’s in heat. Whatever it is, it’s noticed. Teyla starts walking behind me now. Not the other way around. She says nothing about it, but I feel her gaze like a razor between my shoulder blades—assessing, not correcting. I move with precision, say little, and do everything I’m told without complaint. That makes me valuable. Or at least tolerable. And tolerable earns clearance.  
They give me a new badge. It grants me limited autonomy on Sublevel 3 and shared responsibilities over the gamma. He is sedated, according to protocol. A large male, quiet, watchful, compliant. He doesn’t make waves but he is clearly fighting instincts the whole time. I’m tasked with feeding him for the week. The first time, the tray shakes in my hand. I blame the cold. Blame the long walk to the end of the corridor, past the reinforced doors and flickering fluorescents. The guards posted nearby don’t look at me, and I don’t ask for help. I key in the override. The door opens.  
The gamma is awake, sitting on the cot with his back against the wall. His eyes track me the way a predator tracks movement. It’s instinct, not aggression. He doesn’t move. I place the tray on the floor and step back. He doesn’t speak. There’s no thank you, no acknowledgment. Just the low hum of something still alive behind his calm—something coiled. Teyla watches from behind the glass. I exit without a word.  
By the third day, they let me supervise his hygiene routine. The guards escort him out restrained—wrists shackled, ankles linked by a short chain. He’s lucid but grim. The room is sterile, tiled, humming with warm mist from the overhead spray. I’m handed a clipboard and a pair of gloves. I’m not supposed to touch him unless necessary. Just watch. Make notes. Observe for resistance, agitation, changes in scent. The gamma undresses slowly, mechanically. His back is covered in old scars. He doesn’t look at me. When the water hits him, he flinches—but doesn’t react otherwise. He lets it run over his shoulders, his neck, down the length of his spine. I can feel Teyla behind me again, arms crossed, silent. Watching me watch him.  
“He used to be part of one of the strongest pack,” she says eventually. “Before the bloodlines were cut.”  

I don’t respond.  

“He had a mate.”  

Still, I say nothing.  

“He’s not allowed to speak her name.” 

I check a box on the clipboard. Note his stillness. He doesn’t tremble. Doesn’t growl. Just stares at the wall, grinding his teeth. I hear it between his breaths. I know better than to ask questions. But the thought that claws its way up isn’t curiosity. It’s sympathy. Maybe too close to grief. Later, when I return to the surface level to file the reports, my hands are shaking.  
At night, I descend. I make sure no one sees me. It’s been raining for hours—thin, constant sheets that make the stairwell smell of concrete and iron. I wipe my boots carefully. Dry my sleeves. Every movement rehearsed. This time, I bring nothing but my voice.  

“I saw him again today,” I whisper. “The gamma.”  

There’s no sound from the other side of the wall. Only presence. That heavy, molten hum of it. It sits in my chest like heat pooling in a furnace. “They had me watch him shower. Like I was supposed to take notes on how well he washes grief off his skin.”  

I pause.   

“I hate them,” I say, quieter. “I hate how they made me watch. Like he was a thing. Like he wasn’t still fighting with his teeth clenched shut.”  

I lean my head against the wall. My palm spreads over the concrete, fingertips searching for warmth.  

“They’re going to do it again,” I whisper. “Another session. He’s popular.” My throat aches. “I don’t think I can watch. I think I might—”  

I break off. Bite the inside of my cheek. Eventually, I rise. I wipe the floor where I sat. Tuck my scarf back into place. Check the door for prints. I leave no trace. Except the echo of his name in my mind. 

The next night, the rain is gone, but the world still feels washed clean. I come back anyway. No drizzle to blur my steps. No storm to swallow my breath. I wipe the railing behind me before I sit. I check my sleeves, tuck my badge deep into my chest pocket just in case. But no one checks this floor. No one cares to. I sit with my back against the wall beside his door, arms folded loosely around my knees. I tell him about the report I filed, how I accidentally input a wrong code and had to redo it from scratch. I tell him about the way the gamma stared at me during feeding. He hasn’t spoken a word since the first day. Just tracks me with his eyes like he’s waiting for something—like he knows.  

“I’m careful,” I whisper. “I wash twice before coming. I don't think he smells you on me.”  

I stop talking. Not because I’ve run out of things to say, but because my throat aches. Because the silence between us sometimes feels like the only honest thing left. I sit with my knees pulled to my chest, forehead against the cold wall. My voice has gone hoarse from too many nights like this. I told him about the gamma’s latest outburst. How his handlers had to increase sedation after he lashed out mid-session. I told him how I stood outside the door, pretending not to hear the woman sobbing afterward. How no one said anything. No one ever does. I let that weight hang. Let it settle. 
Then— 

“More.” 

The word floats through the quiet like a thread tugging between us. Not desperate. Not demanding. Just there. Present. Like breath. My pulse jumps. I don’t move. If I move, I’ll ruin it. Instead, I close my eyes and let it happen. 

“You want to hear more?” I ask, so softly it’s barely there.

No answer. Of course not. That’s not how he does this. Still—I talk. The next night, I tell him about Teyla. How she doesn’t hover so much anymore. How she’s always watching me, like I’m a walking experiment she hasn’t figured out yet. I tell him about the girl who asked me if I liked it here. How I lied and said yes. I tell him I’m scared of what’s coming. That I know I’ll be asked to do more soon, to assist more than observe. That I don’t think I’ll say no. This time, when I go quiet, his voice returns.  

“Burn.”  

My eyes sting. I nod even though he can’t see me.  

“Yes,” I whisper. “Me too.”