Chapter 30

Chapter 30
Nyra 
Teyla corners me near the end of shift. Not harsh. Not kind, either. Just curious, in that tight, sharp way of hers—like a needle, not a blade. 

“Your gamma said something to you yesterday.” 

It’s not a question. Her voice slices through the quiet hum of the hall, as sharp as the fluorescent lights overhead. I blink at her, my throat already dry. She isn’t carrying a tablet. No clipboard. No reason to stop me except the one I’ve been dreading since yesterday. She just stands there, arms crossed, hip tilted lazily against the wall like she’s not doing anything at all—like she isn’t measuring every flicker of my expression. 

“He did,” I say slowly. My mouth feels too big, too dry, like I’m trying to swallow glass. “Sort of.”

“‘Sort of’?” 

The way she repeats it makes my stomach flip. Her eyes are steady—hard brown, not giving me so much as a blink to hide in. She doesn’t push closer, but I feel pressed into the wall anyway, my hand splayed flat against the cold panel like it might hold me upright. 

“I…” I drag the pause out, force my voice down a notch, steady and flat. “He asked about the growl.” 

Teyla’s head tilts. A wolf, scenting. “The growl.” 

“That was all. He wanted to know if I heard it.” 

The lie rolls out with a smoothness that makes my chest hurt. Because the truth burns just behind it—the gamma’s sharp gaze, the way his almost-smile cut through me, how the second growl rattled my ribs until I swore my bones would crack. Teyla hums. Not disbelief. Not belief. Just a sound that means she’s tucking it away for later. “And did you?” 

I nod. “It was hard not to.” 

Her brow lifts, the faintest suggestion of curiosity, but she doesn’t press further. She pushes off the wall with a smooth motion, uncrossing her arms. Doesn’t thank me. Doesn’t scold. Just walks away with the slow, measured stride of someone who knows they’ve left a hook in you.

That night, I don’t go to the hallway. I want to. Gods, I want to. The ache pulls me toward it like a leash, tugging at every breath, every step I take across the small room. My body tilts toward the door even as I turn away, my chest hollowing out at the thought of stone walls and iron bars, at the thought of him just beyond them. But I’m still too weak. My legs tremble like reeds in shallow water, thin and ready to fold beneath a storm. My spine hums with a low fever that clings to me like smoke, crawling down into my marrow. Heat without fire. The aftermath of something that should have ended but hasn’t. I can still feel it clinging to my skin, a phantom weight, dragging me back under every time I think I’ve clawed free. 

And after what happened in the corridor… they’ll be watching him again. He’ll be guarded even more. Too risky. 

I sit on my bed with my knees pressed to my chest, rocking slightly without meaning to. The sheets smell faintly of antiseptic. Nothing warm, nothing human. My fingers twist in the fabric until they ache. I stare at the floor until the seams blur and my eyes sting. I think about the gamma. About the way his lips formed words no one expected. About the second growl that tore through the air, low and resonant, shaking the corridor. I think about the almost-smile he gave me—like he knew something I didn’t. And then I think about Rane. The way he slammed against his restraints the instant my foot touched the lower floor. The chains rattling, steel screaming under his strength. His voice the other days, cutting through sedation, raw and brutal, shoving my name into the marrow of my bones. 

Nyra. 

They’re connected. Somehow. But how would the gamma know? He’s not supposed to know anything. Not supposed to speak. Not supposed to look at me like that, like he’d just uncovered a secret and wanted to see if I’d notice. None of it fits. None of it makes sense. The questions churn too fast to hold still. They scrape through me like broken glass, sharp and relentless, each one heavier than the last. There are no answers—just noise and the echo of his voice. Just the way my body remembers the vibration of it, the way my chest clenched and my skin broke out in chills like the sound had teeth. 

I lie down. My face buried in the crook of my arm, my throat tight with something dangerously close to prayer. I close my eyes and pray I dream of him again. Sleep doesn’t come easily. It claws. Pulls. My body twists in the sheets like I’m caught between fire and ice, too hot to stay still, too weak to rise. And then—Dark. 

Not the dorm ceiling. Not the antiseptic lights. Something else. The dream takes me fast, the way falling does. One breath and the ground is gone. I’m standing in the corridor. The walls breathe, shadows thick and wet. My footsteps echo too loud, bouncing back at me like whispers. And then I feel it. 

Not sound. Not yet. Just weight. Like a storm crouched low, waiting. The air grows heavy and sweet, salt-and-metal clinging to my tongue. My chest tightens. My pulse hammers. And then—Chains. The rattle. The low scrape of steel grinding against stone. 
I know before I see him.  
His silhouette fills the cell. Broad shoulders hunched, muscles taut under restraints that glow faintly in the dark. His head lifts. Eyes catch mine like claws. Gold, burning through shadow. 

My knees weaken. The dream doesn’t care—it tilts me forward, closer, until I’m pressed against bars that hum with cold. The chains scream. His jaw clenches, teeth flashing white in the dark. The sound of metal snapping fills the air and suddenly he’s closer—too close—fingers brushing through the bars. Heat floods me, low and sharp, like his touch has teeth. 

“You came,” he growls. 

My lips part but no sound comes. He’s on me before I can try again. The bars vanish—dream logic, gone like smoke—and his hands seize my waist. The weight of him crushes me back against stone that wasn’t there a moment ago. His scent burrows into me, deep and familiar, fire and pine and blood, the scent I ache for even awake. He bends. Breath sears my throat. His teeth hover at my skin. A growl rumbles from his chest into mine, vibrating through my bones. 

“You’re mine.” 

The words cut like claws, fierce and certain. I gasp, arching into him. His mouth brushes my throat, not biting, but the pressure is enough to send fire through every nerve. 
And then—The dream shatters, splintering into black. 

I wake choking, sweat dripping down my temple, my chest heaving like I’ve been running. My sheets are twisted. My thighs slick. My hands shaking. 
The ache is worse. 
Because now I’ve tasted him again. 
Because even my dreams know his voice. 
Because I can’t tell if I’m losing my mind… or if he’s finding me.