Chapter 36
Chapter 36
Nyra
I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I hear her voice again—the omega’s—thin and shaking, begging for what I can’t give her. And Cassian’s voice, low and certain, telling me his family has been fighting for wolves longer than I’ve been alive. I roll onto my back. The ceiling blurs in the dark. My body hums—not in fever, not in pain, but in something else. Something I can’t name. My skin feels too aware, my pulse too loud in my ears. It’s not full heat, not like before, but the echo of it scratches at the edges of me. I think about going to Rane’s door. It’s almost instinct now—like breathing, like reaching for water when I’m thirsty. But when I step into the hallway outside my quarters, a voice from the security desk stops me.
“Return to your room. Lockdown protocol.”
I freeze. It’s rare, but not unheard of. Usually it means a wolf’s gone volatile—or worse, a breach in containment. I ask what’s going on, but he just shakes his head and gestures for me to move along. Back inside, I slide the bolt and lean against the door. My chest is tight. If it’s him—if it’s Rane—I can’t get to him. And maybe that’s for the best. By morning, the air in the facility has changed. No one’s smiling. No casual talk. Every footstep sounds heavier, as if the walls are listening. I catch pieces of conversation as I make my way to the lower levels—words in passing, traded in low, hurried voices:
“—unexpected reaction—”
“—wasn’t the drug—”
“—two girls—dead—”
I slow without meaning to, my stomach knotting so hard I feel lightheaded. I want to ask, but I’ve learned when not to. Questions travel in this place. Curiosity gets noticed. Still, I can’t stop the thought that flashes through me. Two girls. Dead. My hands are cold by the time I reach the workroom. The day’s assignments are already waiting.
“Proceed with your normal duties.”
That’s all they say. No explanation. No context. Just a flat directive that leaves no room for questions. I keep my head down and move through the lower corridors, the fluorescent light making the air feel thinner. The lockdown hasn’t lifted entirely—the guards are sharper, their eyes scanning everyone as if waiting for the smallest excuse to intervene. The gamma’s cell is as it always is: too bright, too clean, too quiet. He sits on the cot, his wrists cuffed, his gaze fixed on nothing. He doesn’t look up until I step inside with the tray.
“You look pale,” he says, his voice low, almost conversational. It catches me off guard—he’s been talking more since the other night, but it’s still enough to make me pause mid-step.
“I’m fine,” I say, keeping my tone neutral as I set the tray on the small table. “Eat.”
He tilts his head, studying me like he’s weighing the truth of that. Then, quietly, “You missed a night.”
I freeze for a heartbeat before moving again, straightening the utensils, making a pointless adjustment to the tray just to keep my hands busy.
“I don't know what you mean,” I lie.
A slow, knowing smile curves at his mouth. “You think I can’t smell when you’re aound?”
I ignore him. I have to. Any reaction will feed whatever game he thinks we’re playing.
“Something happened last night,” he says. “Not to me. Not here.” He leans forward, the chains rattling just enough to draw my eyes. “Next door...ish.”
I stiffen. “Eat.”
But he doesn’t move toward the food. “You should be careful, handler. There are wolves in this place you shouldn’t get too close to.”
I meet his eyes then, because I can’t help it. His expression is unreadable—somewhere between warning and amusement.
“What do you mean?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He just picks up the fork and starts eating, as if the conversation never happened.
When I step out into the hall from the elevator, Cassian is there, leaning casually against the wall as if he’s been waiting.
“Walk with me,” he says. “You need air.”
I don’t argue. The walls feel closer today, the air too thin. Outside, the park is near empty, just the slow shuffle of leaves in the wind and the muted glow of the lamps coming on early. We walk far enough that the hum of the facility fades, replaced by the smell of damp earth and cut grass. He doesn’t waste time.
“There’s been movement,” he says. “One of the alpha’s handlers got hurt bad last night—real bad. The other quit.”
My heart jolts hard enough that I feel it in my throat. I keep my face steady, eyes on the path. “So?”
Cassian gives me a look that says don’t play dumb.
“They’re looking for replacements. This is it, Nyra. The opening we've been waiting for.”
I let out a slow breath through my nose, as if I’m weighing the information, as if I’m not already feeling the rush of heat in my blood. “They won’t pick me.”
“They might. Clean record. No infractions. The way you’ve handled the gamma without incident—that matters.” He tilts his head. “You think it’s a coincidence they haven’t transferred you out yet?”
I shrug, but my pulse is a drumbeat now, heavy and constant. I tell myself to keep my voice even, to not look like I’m holding onto the idea too tightly. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Cassian stops walking, turning toward me fully. “Nyra—if they offer you the trial, take it. You might not get another shot.”
I meet his eyes for a beat too long before looking away, because if I don’t, he might see the truth—that I’d already decided the moment he told me. We head back, the wind colder now, biting at my cheeks. My hands stay deep in my pockets, not to keep warm, but to hide the tremor in them.