NULL.
I stayed rooted in place, trying to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, if I didn't turn around, he'd forget he called me.
But I knew better.
So I turned. Slowly. Praying the blood hadn't completely drained from my face.
He was still at his desk. Still sitting. Still staring.
Those same cold gray eyes locked onto me like I was a puzzle he was already halfway through solving. He hadn't moved. But somehow it felt like the entire hallway had gone silent just for him.
My legs moved on their own. I walked toward him, trying not to limp from where my knee had smashed into the tile. The laughter had faded, but it still hung in the air like a bruise.
It still echoed in my head like a chant.
Bandage boy.
When I finally got to his desk, he did not say anything at first. He simply watched me, like he was waiting for me to flinch.
And honestly, I think I did.
He opened some sort of file in front of him once again, glanced at it, then looked back up at me.
"Null," he said and then paused. "That's not your real name, is it?"
I blinked as my chest squeezed so tight.
He said it so casually, like he was so darn sure and was merely asking, hoping for my own sake that I confirmed his accusation… or whatever it was.
"No. It is in fact my real name… sir," I said, adding the last word like it was an afterthought.
And it was.
He studied me again. No smile. No sneer. Just eyes like blades.
Like I was a science experiment. Or a test he was hoping I'd fail.
And honestly? I didn't know what to do with that. I'd already spent my whole life being studied. Being evaluated. Being raised like livestock for something I didn't consent to.
I didn't come here to be dissected all over again.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"It doesn't matter," I thought.
But apparently, I had said it out loud, and his next words were confirmation of that.
"Everything matters here."
I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.
He was fishing. I didn't know for what. The truth? Weakness? Confirmation?
Or maybe this was just how he was—cold, sharp, impossible to read.
At least my handlers back in the dungeon were predictable. I could read their hunger. I could feel when they wanted to claim me, or keep me, or break the rules and call it fate.
I was never a person to them.
I was more like bred livestock they were feeding and waiting for to grow, only that I was not going to be eaten—just bred.
Just a vessel.
An incubator.
It had been drilled into me from the beginning, my only purpose was to be bred. To help our kind not go extinct. Nothing else.
"I'm from nowhere. I don't have a pack. I'm just a rogue," I finally responded, making sure to thicken my voice as much as possible.
Although, not much of it was needed. I've always had a thick voice.
"You don't smell like one."
My heart didn't just drop, it hit the floor and cracked.
Could he tell? No. He couldn't. That's impossible.
The charm on my neck masked my gender, not my history.
Rogue. He wanted me to smell like a rogue?
What the hell does a rogue even smell like? Dirt? Smoke? Shame?
I didn't answer.
And he didn't press. Which made it worse.
Instead, he pulled out another file, this one much slimmer.
"I'm moving you to a quieter unit," he said. "Block A, Room 1."
My breath caught. "Why?"
"Better fit," he said simply. "Less noise, less trouble."
I found it hard to believe what came out of his mouth, because for some reason, it sounded more like sarcasm.
I couldn't tell if it was a warning or kindness.
"I'm not trouble," I said quickly. Too quickly.
He raised a brow at that. "Then you shouldn't mind being watched."
Something tightened in my gut as my wolf suddenly stirred—which was new.
I swallowed hard.
My wolf moved again, and it felt like she was realizing something I hadn't yet. I could not help but take that as it recognizing danger.
She'd been silent most of my life, barely a flicker in the back of my head.
It has never spoken to me. Ever.
I've heard my handlers say that I have a mute wolf.
It only moved like this sometimes. Like once in two years.
Yet, right now, it seemed like she was pressed against the inside of my ribs, like she was trying to leap out.
He handed me another slip. His fingers brushed against mine slightly, barely even, yet it felt hot against mine.
"Dismissed," he said.
I didn't say thank you. Neither did I bother nodding.
I just took the paper and walked away. As fast as I could. Away from his voice, his eyes, and the file still open on his table and screen.
The walk to Block A wasn't long, but every step felt like a spotlight. I avoided everyone. Kept my head down. Shoulders small. Steps quiet.
I couldn't let anyone bump into me. I could not let anyone knock the charm loose or smell something they shouldn't.
If I got exposed now, the North Fang Pack would have me back by sundown.
And this time, they wouldn't wait. I was eighteen already.
There would be no slow testing. No prep. No handlers.
Heck, I would probably not have a room in the dungeon anymore.
Just a cage. And a rotation schedule for the alphas to visit me each night and day.
I walked faster and I soon got to the building of Block A, and the ambience seemed colder with narrower halls.
There were no laughing and playful boys here. Only muted walls and the smell of stone and musk.
I passed one room with the door open and flinched when a guy inside turned and looked right at me.
But he said nothing.
I didn't either.
I kept going until I found number 1.
I stopped at the door. My hand hovered over the knob as something twisted in my chest again.
Please be empty.
Please let me be the first one here.
I touched the charm on my neck. It was still warm.
Still working. Still masking. I hoped.
I closed my eyes and took a slow breath.
"This is it. Just go in, drop your stuff and unpack, like a boy would."
Finally, I turned the handle and opened the door.
But then I froze.
Because inside the room, standing in the middle of it with his back to me and steam curling off his skin—
Was a boy.
Naked.
And I do not mean naked in the sense that he had a towel on his waist.
No.
I mean really, practically, fully butt-naked.