CHAPTER 11
ARIA
Each morning, without fail, I arrive at the laboratory at exactly 7:42 a.m.
Not 7:40, not 7:45.
There’s something about those two quiet minutes before the building fully awakens—the low hum of the air conditioning, the faint click of the security doors—that calms me.
It’s a small window where the world feels still, and I can collect myself before stepping into the controlled chaos of my workday.
It’s the time I pretend I’m just another researcher, my pulse steady, my nerves tucked neatly away, my thoughts focused solely on data and protocols.
But nothing about this is ordinary anymore.
As I swipe my ID badge and the heavy steel doors hiss open, there he is—always waiting.
His golden eyes find me the instant I step through the threshold, a flash of recognition that lights up his usually guarded face. It’s not a human expression, exactly, but it’s close enough to make my heart stutter every time.
I tell myself it’s just his learning.
After all, the progress he’s made in days is staggering.
He mimics my speech patterns perfectly, sometimes repeating entire phrases with surprising clarity.
At first, it was simple parroting—words echoed back in flat tones, delayed by seconds.
Now, his sentences come faster, more natural, sprinkled with the nuance of someone beginning to understand, not just copy.
I force myself not to get too attached.
Not to read too much into those golden eyes.
But every day, I fail a little more.
This Friday morning, however, the routine fractures.
I’m halfway across the marble lobby, my thoughts half on the samples I need to analyse, half on the odd tenderness I’m starting to feel toward him, when I spot Dalton standing near the elevator.
My colleague usually keeps his distance—clinical, disinterested, a man who respects boundaries.
But today, something’s off.
His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles twitch. He’s pale, too pale for someone who drinks coffee like it’s water.
His eyes flick nervously toward the elevator panel, then back to me, and when our gazes lock, I see it: raw, poorly concealed anxiety.
He steps forward, blocking my path without a word.
“Dalton,” I say, forcing my voice to stay calm even though my stomach knots up.
“What’s going on?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes.
Instead, he mutters under his breath, the words barely audible but weighted like a stone sinking deep.
“Today’s not good.”
My pulse quickens.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
I study his face closely, searching for any crack, any hint of what he’s trying so hard to hide.
His fingers twitch nervously at his side.
When he glances away, I catch the faintest sheen of sweat at his temple. Something is very wrong.
“Dalton?” I press, stepping around him toward the elevator.
He shifts uncomfortably, his hands restless. His voice lowers, rough and clipped.
“It’s better if you don’t get involved. This isn’t just another protocol breach or some minor lab glitch. It’s... serious. Dangerous.”
Suspicion coils inside me like smoke curling in a cold room.
“Dangerous how? What aren’t you telling me?”
He swallows hard, voice dropping to a near whisper.
“I can’t say. Not officially. But believe me—today is the last day you want to be near the research floor.”
I straighten, jaw tight. “Why? I’m the lead researcher. You can’t just tell me to stay away.”
His eyes dart to the side, then back, voice urgent but quiet.
“Aria...”
“What?” I demand.
He glances around, lowers his voice even more, as if the walls might listen.
“Things are happening here that aren’t in any report. Things you don’t want to see. Trust me—step back. Take the morning off. Go get coffee. Pretend you’re sick. Just stay away.”
I cross my arms, heart pounding like a drum.
“You think I’m going to walk away just because you say so? I want to know what’s happening.”
His gaze flits nervously toward the elevator panel and back.
His jaw tightens.
“You don’t understand. You don’t want to understand.”
I step closer, voice steady but fierce. “Try me.”
He exhales sharply, frustration bleeding through his control.
“Aria, listen. You’ll get in the way. This isn’t a game or some controlled experiment anymore. Things are changing—fast. And if you get involved, it won’t end well. Not for you.”
My mind races, piecing together his vague warnings and palpable fear.
He leans in, breath cold against my ear.
“There’s been a containment breach. The subject’s unstable. Security’s been mobilised. You being there will only make things worse. For you. For everyone.”
I stare at him, the words hitting me like a fist.
“Containment breach?”
His eyes narrowed, sharp with warning.
“Look, you don’t need to know everything. Just trust me—stay clear. Go home.”
My chest tightens. The thought crashes through me like a wave: My specimen... he’s in trouble.
My heart stutters, and without thinking, I try to step past him.
But he moves faster, blocking my path again. A heavy sigh escapes him, full of frustration and something darker.
“Seriously. Just fucking listen to me. Go!.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine.
My jaw clenches, teeth grinding.
I jab the elevator button, the panel lighting up softly beneath my finger like a fragile beacon in the chaos.
“I have to see,” I say, voice steady and firm, but inside I’m shaking—barely holding myself together.
I swallow hard, fighting the knot of fear tightening in my throat.
“I won’t leave him. Not like this.”
Before he can reply, I jab the elevator button.
“Aria, wait—” His voice rises, urgent, almost pleading.
The elevator hums to life, its doors swinging open with a sudden, icy draft.
Dalton hesitates for a moment, then steps aside, his eyes locked onto mine—as if I’m barreling towards a disaster he’s powerless to stop.
"You’re infuriatingly stubborn," he mutters under his breath.
I shoot back without missing a beat, "And you’re excessively cautious."
As the doors begin to close, I catch a glimpse of Dalton’s strained expression—part irritation, part genuine concern.
"You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be," he says frustrated, a hint of resignation in his voice.
I remain silent.
I can’t respond.
My mind is already racing ahead, my heart pounding louder than the elevator’s steady drone.
The elevator descends slowly, the metallic walls reflecting my pale, drawn face.
Each passing floor tightens the pit in my stomach.
I replay every conversation, every glance, every strange moment from the last week.
His rapid progress, the strange connection forming between us.
And now this—Dalton’s warnings, his fear.
What have they done to him?
The doors slide open onto the research level, and my breath catches in my throat.
The corridor is dark—dimmer than usual—and oppressively silent.
No humming machines. No assistants bustling about. No comforting clatter of scientific equipment.
Only armed security personnel.
They stand in a line, their faces obscured by visors, bodies rigid and poised for action. Each man and woman grips a tranquilliser rifle, barrels aimed steadily down the hall.
My blood runs cold.