Lucas reached for his old, weathered doctor's bag, the kind that smelled faintly of iron and leather. He placed it gently on the bed beside Ryan's restrained body, unbuckling the brass clasp with a surgeon's patience.
He opened it.
Inside: rows of neatly arranged syringes, some filled with clear fluid, others tinged with amber or pink. Beneath them, nestled in black velvet, was a bone saw, its blade wickedly thin and glinting like it had been polished that morning. A scalpel, a cloth gag, sterile gauze, and an unmarked journal lay underneath.
Lucas exhaled slowly, almost reverently, and murmured, "I've waited so long to use these again."
Dimitri stood nearby, arms folded, watching with that blank, unreadable expression.
Lucas lifted one of the syringes to the light, turning it between his fingers like glass art. "This one numbs the nerves just enough so they feel everything but can't scream properly. Isn't that beautiful?"
"You always did have a thing for control," Dimitri said softly, almost fondly, his eyes tracing Lucas's face like he was looking at a god carved in flesh. "And I've always wanted to be the thing you ruin next."
Lucas paused, looking at him sideways, almost amused. "You're pathetic, you know that?"
Dimitri nodded.
Lucas chuckled, placing the syringe down and pulling out the bone saw next. The teeth were small, jagged, designed to work slowly. "Do you think he'll still be pretty after I'm done?"
Dimitri swallowed hard, watching as Lucas ran a gloved finger down the blade.
Lucas turned toward him, saw in hand, and stepped close. "Would you let me try it on you? Just to make sure it works?"
Dimitri didn't hesitate. "If it makes you happy."
Lucas raised the saw, held it to Dimitri's cheek — gently, not pressing, just resting the cold metal against skin. His eyes searched Dimitri's for a flinch that never came.
"…You're such a freak," Lucas muttered.
Dimitri smiled faintly at the compliment
Lucas stepped back, turning his attention to Ryan's limp form on the bed. "He's not like you. He still thinks he can be saved."
He leaned over Ryan's face, studying it like a canvas. "But I don't want to save him."
Lucas picked up a thin, clear syringe and slowly pressed the plunger to release a single drop from the tip. "This one's just to keep his heart rate low. Wouldn't want him dying too early."
Dimitri moved to the head of the bed, brushing Ryan's damp hair back like a lover might. "He's trembling. Somewhere in there… he knows."
Lucas smiled. "Good. That means he's waking up."
He plunged the syringe into Ryan's neck again, slower this time, like he was savoring it. Ryan twitched beneath the restraints, a faint groan escaping his lips.
Lucas licked his bottom lip. "Showtime."
He turned to Dimitri again. "Hand me the journal. I want to document every step. If I like the results, we'll do another."
Dimitri handed it to him without a word.
Lucas sat beside the bed and opened the journal to a fresh page. His handwriting was beautiful — flowing cursive, meticulous and clean.
> Subject: Ryan
> Time of restraint: 9:27 PM
> Initial reaction: Delirium, partial awareness
> First injection: 9:42 PM – nerve suppression
> Second injection: 9:45 PM – cardiac control
> Response: Twitching. Shallow breathing. Semi-conscious.
Dimitri's phone buzzed violently in his pocket, cutting through the heavy silence, out of place amid the clinical precision of what Lucas had just begun.
He didn't move at first.
Lucas, in the middle of writing his next note, slowly lifted his eyes. Not to Ryan, not to the journal — but directly to Dimitri.
"Who is it?" Lucas asked, voice low but sharp.
Dimitri swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn't need to check the screen.
He already knew.
The vibrating stopped.
Then it started again — same number. Same name.
Lucas tilted his head, watching Dimitri.
"You gonna answer that?" Lucas asked, too calmly.
Dimitri hesitated.
Lucas stood.
The silence between them stretched, taut as wire.
"Answer it," Lucas said again — this time quieter, but with a finality that punched straight through the room. "Now. On speaker."
Dimitri's fingers shook as he fished the phone from his pocket. The screen lit up:
TOBIAS.
The name was a gut punch.
He looked up at Lucas one last time, hoping — maybe — for permission to lie.
Lucas didn't blink.
Dimitri accepted the call, thumb hovering before he pressed the speaker button.
A second of static.
Then Tobias's voice: cold
"Dimitri," he said, like he was greeting an old friend at a funeral. "Is everything... quiet where you are?"
Lucas didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't exist.
Dimitri felt his pulse in his ears.
"I'm here with Father. You're not home."
Dimitri's heart nearly stopped.
He opened his mouth to respond but nothing came.
His eyes darted around the room—and then froze.
Lucas was gone.
Then—without warning—he felt a crushing weight behind him. Arms wrapped tightly around his chest, pulling him flush against a cold, unyielding body.
Tobias's voice dropped to a whisper: "Is he there?"
For the first time, Lucas's lips curled
Lucas reached out, and without breaking eye contact, took the phone from Dimitri's hand.
He held it close to his mouth.
"Hello, Tobias."
Silence.
Then Tobias's sharp inhale on the other end.
"Good."
A pause. Then he said, "You both need to hear this."
Dimitri's heart pounded as the weight of the moment settled over him.
"You have exactly one hour to get back," Tobias continued, voice low and deadly serious. "An hour before we start hunting you like dogs."
Lucas's grip on Dimitri tightened just slightly. Neither of them moved.
Tobias didn't pause this time. "And I don't care how you feel about any of this, Dimitri."
Dimitri's throat went dry.
"You're coming back with us," Tobias said firmly. "No excuses. No negotiations. And when I find you—when we find you—I'll be the one personally delivering all the pain you deserve for your insolent behavior."
The line went dead