This particular war room hadn't been used in years.
It smelled like dust, forgotten secrets, and burned-out ambition. A circular table sat in the center, ringed by cold metal chairs. The remaining lab heads and senior operatives had gathered already, looking equal parts tense and calculating.
I didn't bother sitting.
I stood at the head of the room, arms folded, Nyx prowling just beneath my skin.
"The Supreme Leader is dead," I said plainly. "You all saw what happened. Now I'm in command."
Murmurs.
Some disbelief, some grudging acceptance. No one challenged me outright. Not yet.
Dr. Morrow, head of Genetics, leaned forward with her fingers laced. "You've effectively decapitated the leadership. And the banquet… It was a massacre."
"That wasn't a question."
"No," she said smoothly. "It was an observation. And the question that follows is: What now?"
A few of the others shifted uncomfortably. Most of them had blood on their hands, and they knew it. But some had only been loyal to the structure—the hierarchy that had existed long before any of us.
And they didn't quite know what I was yet.
I turned slightly, eyes scanning them all. "We have two priorities. One: the hybrids. Two: the WRAITHs."
"Containment?" someone asked from the right. A military man. Gray buzzcut, eyes like stone.
"Freedom," I said.
That got a reaction.
One of the junior directors from Facility B scoffed. "You're proposing we just let them go? The WRAITHS? Those things aren't even—"
"Finish that sentence," I said quietly, "and I'll let you see what they are up close."
He shut up.
Dr. Morrow didn't look surprised. "You bonded with one of the Omegas, didn't you?"
My jaw twitched. "He has a name."
Another scientist, older and pinched, adjusted his glasses nervously. "We can't integrate the WRAITHs. They aren't like the others. They don't follow commands the same way."
"They do," I cut in. "They respond to tone, emotion, and intention. You bred them for destruction and expected obedience—but that was never going to work."
Nyx stirred in approval.
"They follow me now. And they'll stay in containment until I say otherwise."
Morrow arched a brow. "You expect them to just sit and wait?"
I smiled coldly. "They're not the ones I don't trust."
That silenced the table.
"We're going to restructure everything," I continued. "The hybrids will be moved into new housing. No more crates, no more collars, no more programming. They'll be taught language, emotion, decision-making—basic autonomy. If you're not equipped to oversee that kind of transition, step down now."
Silence.
Then a hand went up. "What about the buyers?" one of the financial heads asked. "The market was worth millions—"
"Burn it," I said. "We're done selling people."
The man paled but didn't argue.
Dr. Morrow tilted her head, studying me. "And what happens when they push back? When the outside world—military, clients, old loyalists—realize what you're doing?"
I met her gaze, unflinching. "Then I let the WRAITHs out."
No one laughed.
No one thought I was bluffing.
Because they'd seen what I'd done already. And they were beginning to understand something important: I hadn't just taken power.
I was power now.
"We start today," I said, finally sitting at the head of the table. "You'll get me updated rosters of every hybrid and WRAITH still alive. I want names if they have them. If not, we'll give them some."
Another beat of silence.
Then, slowly, the people around the table began to nod.
Not with warmth. Not yet with loyalty.
But with fear. And respect.
And that would do—for now.