I release. Breathe. The effort leaves a dull ache in my torso, a fresh trickle of blood from my nose that I wipe on my shoulder. But the panel light stays dead. I killed it. Just that one. Left the others alone.
That’s new.
The next ward gap comes. I reach for the overhead light again. I push…harder this time. The light doesn’t just stop buzzing. It dims. Flickers. I hold it for a count of three, then let it snap back to full brightness.
My heart is hammering. Blood on my upper lip. The shift is pulling at my jaw, my hands, trying to take what the wards are barely holding back. But the hum in my chest is steady. Controlled. Mine.
Faith built the weapon. She doesn’t get to decide where I aim it.
I lie back on the cot. Close my eyes. Slow my breathing until the monitors settle. My wolf watches the containment door through closed eyelids, ears tracking every sound in the corridor. We wait.
Hours pass. Or minutes. Time moves wrong in white rooms.
The wards pulse. Pause. Pulse.
Then the hum stops.
Not a gap. A full stop. The suppression cuts out. My ears ring with the silence. My body responds: the shift lurches, spine tries to bow, jaw extends. But I hold it. Ride the wave instead of letting it ride me.
Sounds in the corridor. Footsteps. Quick. Light. Not guard boots. A badge beeps on a lock mechanism. The containment door clicks.
The cell door opens.
I go completely rigid until I see her.
She’s backlit by amber emergency light. She slips inside and pulls the door behind her, leaving it cracked. Hair tied back. Face set. Breathing hard.
“Rafael.” Low. Steady. But I can sense her heart pounding. “I’m getting you out of here.”
Her hands find the first buckle. Right wrist. Quick fingers. The strap gives. My arm comes free.
“Sable —”
“Don’t talk yet. We don’t have much time before the next shift.” Left wrist. Buckle. Free. She reaches across me for the chest strap. Her hair brushes my jaw. Under the soap: warmth. Something alive. “I need you thinking, not reacting. Can you do that?”
The chest strap releases. I push up. The cell swings. I grip the edge of the cot, metal groaning under my hands.
She goes for the ankles. I’m upright, half-free, the shift rolling through me. My shoulders widen. My shirt tears at the seam.
The last strap gives.
I’m off the cot. Bare feet on cold tile. The floor sways, and I catch myself against the wall, claws scoring paint. Every instinct is screamingrun.
Sable is right there. Two feet away.
My hand moves. Toward her face. The claws are out…all the way, curved, thick. My fingers reach for her jaw.
I stop.
The points rest against her cheekbone. One twitch and I’d open her skin. I can feel her pulse under my fingertips. Fast. Steady.
I pull the claws back. One by one. Tendon by tendon. Until the points retract and my palm is flat against her cheek.
Her eyes are wide. Her lips part, breath whispering out.
The warmth of her skin floods through my hand. Up my wrist. Into my chest. Into the place where the wolf has been coiled and burning since Faith touched me. It reaches him, and he goes quiet. Not flat or suppressed. Something I’ve never felt from him before. A low, steady sound that vibrates through my ribs.
She’s here.
