It didn't take long for them to notice the change.
Nine had been more responsive lately. He moved without needing to be prompted. He reached for the flashcards before I offered them. He answered questions—not always clearly, not always confidently, but he answered. He looked at me when I entered the room, not just as a handler, but as something else.
They saw it.
They always did.
The next day, I found him with fresh marks on his neck. Not bruises—just faint redness, the shape of a hand lingering at his jaw.
And he was quieter.
Not in the way he usually was—subdued, cautious, blank—but like he was waiting for something. Or afraid of remembering.
It wasn't my session.
He was scheduled for a conditioning session with another instructor. I wasn't allowed in, but I watched. Because I had to.
The camera feed was glitchy. The audio cut in and out. But I saw enough.
The instructor—a man I'd seen once before, the one with the calm voice and the dead eyes—was crouched beside Nine. He was speaking low, coaxing.
"Go on," the man said, tone soft. "You've been doing so well, haven't you? Haven't you, sweetheart?"
Nine nodded. Barely.
"You know what comes next," he continued. "Don't you?"
Nine hesitated.
"Say it," the man pressed. "Good boys ask."
Nine's voice was almost inaudible. "Please…"
"Louder."
"Please," Nine said again, his voice trembling now.
"For what?"
A beat of silence. Then—
"For you to touch me."
I gripped the edge of the console so hard my knuckles went white.
"Good boy," the man murmured. "Good boys know how to beg."
The rest of the session blurred. I couldn't watch all of it. But I saw enough.
They were trying to teach him pleasure through obedience. Conditioning him to associate the warmth in his chest—the bond he felt with me—with them.
Twisting it. Poisoning it.
Using his awakening as another tool in their arsenal.
They think they can mold him again, Nyx snarled. Break him again.
My jaw clenched. I didn't say a word.
But when I left the observation room, the plastic edge of the console was cracked under my fingers.
I walked the hallway with silent fury building under my skin. Every breath I took felt like poison, the air in this place thick with the rot of what they'd done. Of what they were still doing. My hands twitched at my sides, aching to do something, to take action. But I knew better. For now.
This wasn't the time for recklessness.
It was the time for precision.
They had made a mistake.
They had forgotten that this wasn't just an asset anymore.
He was mine.
And I wasn't going to let them just do anythiing to my mate.
Not without a war.