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The rumors had begun just after the treaty was sighed. They started as viral internet posts showing white vans carting off both humans and Wolves. The word “lab” was being whispered on the lips of the humanitarian organizations before they were cut down and silenced.
It made sense—I understood systematic oppression. I knew the cycle, the warning signs, the inevitable ending when it grew out of control. But it seemed pointless to dig further into it. Was the government handing both humans and Wolves off to men like my father who wanted to try their hands at living like a deity? Most likely, but it wasn’t men like me who were going to stop them. After all, what could we do but observe?
I had never once considered that I could be dragged in against my will. That my father’s eccentric work would change the very make-up of who I was—of what I was—until there was nothing recognizable as the human I had been.
It started quietly and unobtrusive. Someone brought me a sandwich for lunch that I hadn’t ordered, and I didn’t think twice about eating it. I only noticed something was off when my head began to swim, and the words on the page doubled.
Then pain ripped through me, like a hot knife cutting me in half.
I couldn’t remember being brought to my room, only that someone had stopped in to draw blood, and then the sting and faint burn of a sedative rippled up my arm. By morning, it had passed, but I could see the concern in my mother’s eyes when she came to visit.
“Misha.” There was something in her tone I couldn’t read, something I’d never heard before.
Pushing up on my elbow, I’d met her gaze. “God. God, I’m dying, aren’t I?”
At that, she’d smiled. “You’re not dying. Your father ordered a barrage of tests on you. He wanted to bring you to the lab, but I put my foot down. You need to recover in your own bed.”
Something like panic settled in my gut. The lab was… Well, there were rumors. It was easier to shut them out, but deep down I knew that people were fucking with genetic codes—playing God where they had no business playing God. My father had always been obsessed with it, but I never let myself believe it was anything more than theory.
“Can’t I just go to a hospital instead?” I asked.
She pressed her hand to my forehead, her skin cool and dry, and I laid back against my pillow again. “He’s not taking you, Misha. Trust me.”
In the end, I supposed it was my own fault for believing she had any power—or that my father’s megalomania wouldn’t extend to forcing his own children to their knees as test subjects. Or, at least, one of them. His youngest and most useless.
When the second pain attack hit, I woke up tied to a bed with an IV in my arm and a number on a chart. It was when I saw the glass pane separating me from the rest of the hospital that I knew. If I ever saw my father’s face again, he would no longer look at me as human. I was just another figure in a column. As the machine continued to pump a burning liquid into my veins, I realized that I would likely die before they let me in on what was happening.
* * *
My days and nights bled together. Whatever they were pushing into my veins, it was combined with a sedative. I was in and out of consciousness for what felt like months, though when I finally started coming to, I knew it couldn’t have been that long. Two at most, maybe three. I had lost muscle, but not enough that when they pulled me from the bed, I couldn’t walk. I was weak, though, and I supposed my father wanted to keep me that way.
No one spoke to me. They stopped using my name, and for a while, I wondered if I'd ever hear the name Misha on someone else’s lips again. My first shower I was allowed alone, I stood in front of the polished steel serving as a mirror and found a stranger looking back. I stared into my eyes, forced myself to acknowledge the way they were sunken, the way my cheeks were sallow. I looked like I was dying, and most days, I felt the same way.
“Do not forget who you are.” The words came out raspy, my voice so unused, but I said them again and again until a pale face appeared in the doorway to escort me back to my little cell.
That was the night the first real pain hit. I was given my IV, but I wasn’t put to sleep, and an hour later, I was on the brink of passing out. A searing hot sensation rippled across my stomach. I screamed for help, screamed for attention, but the most I got was a man in the window watching and scribbling on a notepad.
I was certain I was going to die, but by dawn, the sensation had faded. I was left covered in sweat and my heart racing, but ultimately, I had survived it.
I knew from the way they observed me the following day that this was just the start. It would only get worse, and I doubted I was strong enough to take it. I wasn’t a fighter—I wasn’t a soldier like my brothers, and I didn’t have a spine of steel like my mother.
I was nothing.
I think they realized they’d broken me, though, because they quit locking my cell and hadn’t followed me around when I shuffled listlessly through the halls. I found myself drawn to one of the labs where they kept a Wolf strapped to one of the gurneys, tubes and wires attached to his emaciated form. He never once opened his eyes, though I heard him crying out sometimes. I had no idea what they were doing to him, and I wasn’t about to ask.
It was afternoon when everything changed.
I had long-since lost count of what day it was, or what month it was, but there was a fogged window high on the wall that let in afternoon light. I was sitting in a patch of it, a sketchpad with dull pencils on my lap, when they walked him in. He was taller than all the techs, and more broad. His hair was dark, and his lips were turned down in a resting frown. He didn’t meet my eyes, but really, I hadn’t expected him to.
He wasn’t the first I’d seen come through there, but he was the first I’d seen walking like he was headed straight for the gallows and had resigned himself to death. Usually, if they weren’t unconscious, they were snarling and fighting. I used to wonder if the lab techs liked them that way—a glimpse of the power they’d eventually break.
My breath hitched in my chest suddenly, when his gaze caught mine. I didn’t know much about Wolves, but I knew enough. I knew that the icy blue flash in his irises indicated he was a Beta—a Wolf that didn’t have the strength of an Alpha, but one that could tear down humans even if the moon wasn’t near to full. He was young though, war-hardened with scars across his face and calloused knuckles. He was dressed in scrubs, and somehow, he managed to make them look like military fatigues as they stretched across his chest.
If I hadn’t been looking—really looking—I might have assumed he was drugged, but I saw the spark of intelligence in his eyes. He hadn’t been caught by the humans. He had let them walk themselves into a trap.
We were never alone, but the orderly walked him close enough to my table that a note fell into my lap. I was too terrified to touch it, but it became obvious no one had even glanced down at me. I was invisible to them, and that knowledge gave me a sudden rush of both courage and power as I opened the small, folded bit of paper and squinted at the writing.
I’m here to orchestrate an escape for the Alpha. His name is Kor. I have people who will meet you in three days, the location is secure. There will be an explosion at 8:01 PM. You will have exactly ten minutes to unbind him and reach the car I have planted just outside the East gate. There will be no guards. The keys are under the floor mat, and there’s a burner with GPS programmed to a safe house. You will be rewarded. Destroy this note.
