Silence was supposed to feel empty.
This silence didn't.
It felt watchful.
Like the walls themselves were listening to my breathing, tracking the tremor in my hands, adjusting to every spike in my pulse.
I sat on the edge of the cot—knees pulled up, chin resting on them—watching the light on the ceiling pulse in slow, steady rhythms.
A soft ventilation sigh.
A hum beneath the floorboards.
A faint click inside the walls.
The Isolation Wing never truly slept.
Neither could I.
My back pressed against the glass, which was cold enough to numb the skin there. The sterile air made the small of my throat ache.
But worse than the cold—
worse than the solitude—
was the way the room made my instincts feel:
as if they'd been packed neatly in a box and pushed to the far corner of my mind.
Still there.
But quiet.
Smothered.
I whispered to myself just to hear something human:
"Stay awake, Elle."
My voice sounded too soft in the room.
Like someone else said it.
THE FIRST STATIC ECHO
A faint static buzz ran across the floor.
Subtle.
Quick.
Almost like someone brushing their fingers across the wires beneath the tiles.
I froze.
Then leaned down slowly, placing my fingers on the metal seam of the floor panel closest to the blinking light Lucian had accessed earlier.
Another static ripple.
Gentle.
Intentional.
"…Lucian?"
Nothing answered.
But the buzz repeated—
three pulses, evenly spaced.
A message.
The same signal he used during the Prototype containment drills.
I'm here.
I exhaled shakily.
"You idiot," I whispered, "you're going to get yourself arrested."
The static thrum paused—then buzzed a single pulse.
Worth it.
My eyes stung. Not with tears—
but with a fierce, relieved warmth that fought back against the suppression mist in the air.
For three full minutes, I crouched there, feeling that small vibration, letting it anchor me. Letting it remind me I wasn't completely buried in this place.
But then—
the vents hissed sharply.
A wave of bitter-mint suppression flooded the room.
The static vanished.
I lurched backward, coughing.
"No—NO—stop—!"
But the mist thickened.
Every inhalation dulled my thoughts, softened my instinct, made my chest loosen and tighten at the same time. Not painful. Not exactly.
Just empty.
A monotone voice chimed overhead:
"Prime activity detected. Beginning neural leveling."
"Don't you dare—"
The mist intensified.
My head spun.
My knees went weak.
The room tilted slightly—
—and I forced myself onto the floor before I could fall.
I dug my fingernails into the cold tile.
"Stop," I whispered again.
And again.
And again.
Until my breathing stabilized into something that wasn't panic.
Something stubborn.
Something mine.
The mist thinned.
The lights steadied.
But I felt the warning.
The room knew I wasn't breaking.
So now it was trying harder.
CUT TO — ROWAN'S SENSORY CRASH
Rowan pressed both hands over his ears, shaking violently as the fluorescent lights in the medbay flickered for a moment.
"Too much—too much—stop—Chandler—make it stop—"
Chandler immediately dimmed the overhead lamps.
"It's okay—it's okay—here—look at me—Rowan, look at me."
Rowan tried.
He couldn't.
His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, like his body wasn't taking orders properly.
Lucian rushed over and lowered himself beside them.
"What happened?"
Chandler's jaw was tight, eyes filled with fear he was trying—and failing—to hide.
"The suppression wave," Chandler murmured.
"It hit him like a shock."
"It shouldn't affect him that strongly," Lucian whispered.
Rowan gasped, fingers digging into Chandler's shirt.
"H-her scent—it disappeared—Chandler—I can't feel it—I can't feel anything—everything is too loud but too far but too—Chandler, I can't—"
"Shh," Chandler murmured, rubbing circles on his back.
"Breathe for me. In… out… slow. You're okay. I've got you."
Rowan began crying so hard he shook.
Chandler pulled him into his lap, cradling him like he was something breakable.
Lucian brushed Rowan's hair back gently.
"This isn't normal. He's reacting as if… as if his bond link is being ripped."
Chandler froze.
"Bond link? Lucian—he's been scent-sensitive to her from the start but—"
"No," Lucian whispered, staring at Rowan's trembling form.
"This is more than sensitivity."
Rowan clutched Chandler even tighter.
"I feel like she's dying—"
Chandler swallowed hard.
"She's not. She's not dying."
Rowan sobbed harder.
"I feel it, Chandler—she's fading—she's slipping—like she's being pulled under—"
Lucian rose so fast he nearly stumbled.
"I have to get back to the console."
He sprinted out of the room.
Chandler rocked Rowan gently.
"It's okay. I promise. She's not gone. She's fighting. You know she's fighting."
Rowan curled against him sobbing—
"I hate this—I hate this—I want her back—please bring her back—"
Chandler didn't say "I will."
He couldn't.
Not yet.
But he held Rowan tighter than he had ever held anyone in his life.
CUT TO — HORACE'S CLARITY
Horace sat on the edge of the bed, drenched in sweat, chest rising and falling in panicked heaves—but his eyes were clear.
Too clear.
Lucian stopped short.
"Horace…?"
Horace looked up slowly.
Something raw and dangerous flickered behind his lashes.
A steadiness Lucian had only seen in Alphas twice in his life:
Instinct-sharpened clarity.
"Lucian," Horace rasped quietly.
"She's not breathing right."
Lucian's blood froze.
"Horace, you can feel her?"
Horace pressed a shaking hand to his sternum.
"It's like—"
He gasped.
"Like the air around her is—tight. Like she's trying to breathe through sand."
Lucian grabbed the chart.
"That's impossible—there's no way you can sense—"
Horace snapped his gaze up.
"I'm not supposed to. I KNOW."
His breath shook.
"But I do. Something's wrong with her."
Lucian swallowed.
"Horace… I need you to stay awake. Just long enough for me to break her signal suppression."
Horace curled his fingers into the bedsheets.
"Just tell me what to do."
Lucian stared at him.
This was the same boy who earlier couldn't lift his head.
Now he looked ready to tear the Academy apart with his bare hands.
And Lucian realized:
He wasn't going to survive losing her.
BACK IN ISOLATION — THE INSTINCT DREAM
I wasn't asleep.
But I wasn't awake, either.
The room softened around me.
Edges blurred.
The floor felt warmer.
My heartbeat felt louder, as if echoing in my ears.
A dream—
an instinct dream—
slid over me like warm water.
I saw a hand reaching for mine.
Large.
Rough.
Warm.
Horace's hand.
"Elle."
His voice was deep.
Close.
Breath against my ear.
I reached back, fingers brushing his.
But the moment I touched him—
the hand slipped away.
And Rowan appeared instead—
eyes silver-bright, spilling tears.
"Elle…"
He whispered, voice cracking,
"don't leave…"
He leaned his forehead to mine.
I felt the tremor of his breath.
Then another presence—
Chandler—
warm
broad
solid
standing behind me
hand on my shoulder
steadying me like a wall that refused to break.
"You're not alone," he murmured.
"You're not—"
The dream shifted again.
Their scents tangled.
Warm spice.
Soft citrus.
Burned cedar.
Instinct curled through my chest—
wanting
reaching
aching for all of them—
And then—
The suppression mist ripped it away.
I gasped awake.
Breathing too fast.
Heart racing.
Room dimming and brightening like a stuttering heartbeat.
I whispered into the empty room:
"…I'm not alone.
I'm not."
The walls didn't answer.
The vents didn't slow.
But beneath me…
a faint static buzz returned.
Lucian.
Still fighting.
Still here.
I pressed my trembling fingers to the floor.
"Don't stop," I whispered.
"I'm holding on.
Don't stop."
And for the first time, the static responded with four pulses.
I won't.
Pressure Points
The suppression mist thinned—
a small mercy—
but the room didn't feel calmer.
It felt like the calm before something broke.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… wrong.
Like the air was slightly too heavy, or the lights a little too sharp, or the hum under the floor just a fraction too fast.
I sat on the cold tile with my back against the glass, my knees pulled close to my chest. My fingers tingled from gripping the floor earlier.
The static message from Lucian had stopped.
Not gone.
Just holding still.
Waiting.
I whispered:
"I'm still here."
The room flickered a single light panel overhead, humming in quiet response.
Then—
a soft ping.
"Prime subject nearing threshold.
Instinct pressure rising."
My heart skipped.
"Nearing threshold for what?" I murmured.
The room didn't answer.
Of course it didn't.
The vents shivered again, blowing cool air across my neck.
My instincts curled—reflexively—like a cat puffing up from cold water.
Not violent.
Not dangerous.
Just awake.
"Don't," I whispered.
"Don't do it."
But the system didn't care what I wanted.
The vents hissed sharply—
a new scent mixed with the neutral mint.
Something warm.
Metallic.
Familiar in a way that made my stomach twist:
Heat-suppressing compounds.
Instinct suppressant.
A stronger one.
The air stung the inside of my nose.
My breath caught.
"No—no—no, stop—STOP—"
My voice cracked, but the system didn't hesitate:
"Stabilization mode active."
"Prime subject emotional spikes must be controlled."
My hands pressed to the floor again as a wave of numbness washed through my limbs.
The edges of my instincts shimmered and receded—
quiet
quiet
quiet
like they were being folded away.
Something inside my chest thrashed.
My pulse surged.
"Stop it—"
I panted.
"STOP IT—"
But the suppressant mist thickened.
I collapsed forward onto my hands, gasping.
My chest tightened painfully, like someone had wrapped a band around my ribcage and pulled.
My eyes burned.
Then—
the room shuddered.
Lights flickered.
The hum broke.
For a second—
just one—
the suppressant stalled.
My lungs expanded.
Air rushed in—
a painful, desperate gulp that felt like breaking through ice.
My instincts surged.
Not fully.
Not freely.
But enough to spark heat under my skin and pulse through my veins.
Enough for me to sit upright again.
Enough to feel myself.
The suppression resumed—
softer now, like the system was struggling.
But it was too late.
A part of me had already woken.
I whispered:
"…you can't cage instinct forever."
The lights buzzed sharply overhead.
The room's voice responded:
"Prime subject volatility rising. Increasing containment pressure."
"Try me."
CUT TO — THE MEDBAY: ROWAN BREAKS
Rowan curled forward, hugging his stomach, gasping for air.
Chandler held him from behind, arms locked tightly around his waist to keep him from collapsing off the bed.
"It's okay—Rowan—look at me—look at me—"
Rowan's nails dug into his own arms.
"I—I—it hurts—Chandler—Chandler it HURTS—"
His voice cracked on the last word.
Lucian halted mid-run back into the room, face pale.
"What's happening?!"
Chandler's tone was raw, furious, scared:
"He's reacting to whatever they're doing to Elleanore—he's in full scent withdrawal—"
Rowan sobbed wildly.
"I want her—I want her—I want her—Chandler—please—please—make it stop—she's hurting—she's HURTING—"
Chandler's throat bobbed.
"I know, sweetheart, I know—come here—come to me—"
Rowan clawed desperately at Chandler's shirt, shaking violently.
Lucian grabbed a sensor pad and slapped it against Rowan's neck.
"H-he's destabilizing—his pheromone levels are dropping too fast—Rowan—Rowan, breathe for me—"
Rowan shook his head.
"I can't—I can't—I can't feel her—there's nothing—nothing—nothing—!"
His voice cracked into a scream.
Chandler held him so tightly his own arms trembled.
"Baby—hey—look at me—look at me—she is alive—YOU HEAR ME?—she is—ALIVE—"
Rowan sobbed harder, body thrashing.
Lucian swore under his breath.
"That's it—this is dangerous—I have to get to the grid now—"
Chandler snapped his head up.
"What grid?"
Lucian hesitated.
"I didn't want to drag you into this, but—"
"What. Grid."
Rowan convulsed again.
Lucian swallowed.
"The one controlling her chamber."
Chandler's entire expression changed.
He stood with Rowan in his arms—physically lifting him—like he weighed nothing.
"Then show me."
CUT TO — HORACE STANDS
Horace sat on the edge of the medbay bed, palms pressed to his knees, breathing uneven.
Lucian stormed in.
"Horace—DON'T move—stay there—your vitals are too—"
Horace stood.
Lucian froze.
Horace's legs shook, but he stayed upright.
By will alone.
His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts—
but he was in control.
Barely.
Lucian whispered:
"Horace…"
"I can feel her," Horace rasped.
Lucian swallowed.
"You're not supposed to."
"I don't care."
Horace's jaw tightened.
"She's panicking."
Lucian said nothing.
He didn't need to.
Horace's hands curled into fists.
"She's fighting something. Hard."
Lucian shook his head.
"Horace, even if you could get up there—you're in no condition to fight—"
Horace glared.
"I'm going."
"No—no, you're NOT—!"
Horace stepped forward—
and collapsed to one knee.
"Horace!" Lucian grabbed him, catching his weight.
Horace's breath stuttered.
He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth gritted against pain.
"Lucian—listen—"
He gasped.
"She's slipping—she's losing control—if they push her any harder—she'll—she'll—"
His breath broke.
Lucian held him tightly.
"Don't say it."
Horace shook his head.
"I have to get to her. I HAVE TO—"
"You will," Lucian whispered urgently. "But not like this. You'll die before you reach her."
Horace's eyes glazed with frustration.
"I don't care."
Lucian grabbed his face sharply.
"Well, I do."
Horace froze.
Lucian's voice cracked.
"Don't make her wake up alone in that place without you. Don't make Rowan break again. Don't make us bury you. Sit. Down."
Horace trembled.
Then—
slowly—
he lowered himself into the chair.
His fingers dug into the armrests.
"I need her," he whispered.
Lucian closed his eyes.
"We all do."
BACK IN ISOLATION — INSTINCT SURGE
The suppressant mist thinned again—
then surged.
A wave slammed into my chest.
Not physically.
Not violently.
But I felt my instincts recoil—
then lash out like a trapped pulse in my throat.
My breath hitched.
My heart hammered.
I grabbed both sides of the cot to stay upright.
The room flickered.
Lights stuttered.
"Prime volatility high—"
"Instinct override possible—"
"Activating pressure dampening—"
I snarled under my breath.
"Don't you DARE—"
Too late.
A low-pitched hum pressed against my skull—
like someone pushing from the inside.
I bit down on a soft cry.
My eyes watered.
My scent tried to flare—
and smothered.
Then rose again.
Then smothered.
My instincts thrashed.
The room responded.
Every light in the chamber brightened to blinding white.
I covered my eyes, teeth gritted.
The room whispered:
"Remain still.
Your instincts are being moderated."
Moderated.
They were trying to mute who I was.
"No…" I whispered, breath shaking.
"No, no, NO—"
The floor pulsed.
A shockwave traveled up my spine.
My knees buckled.
My hand slapped against the glass wall for support—
and the moment my skin touched it, a spark ran through the entire panel.
Not electricity.
Resonance.
The lights blinked.
The floor vibrated.
The system stuttered.
"Error. Error. Error."
"Prime signature unidentified."
I gasped.
A pulse rolled through me—
instinct
heat
pressure
longing
fear
ache
all tangled into something overwhelming and sharp that made my entire body stiffen and shake.
My breath stuttered.
"Stop—stop—STOP—" I whispered through clenched teeth.
But my instincts were DONE being caged.
They clawed upward from my chest, raw and hot—
and the suppression grid faltered violently.
The lights flickered harder.
The vents choked.
A warning blared overhead.
"SYSTEM INSTABILITY—"
"RECALIBRATION REQUIRED—"
"CONTAINMENT BREACH RISK—"
I collapsed to my knees—
not breaking,
but awakening.
Not defeated,
but dangerous.
My voice came out hoarse and low.
"You will NOT take who I am."
The room shook.
The chamber's walls vibrated.
For one terrifying second, I thought the glass would crack.
And then—
everything stopped.
Silence.
Total.
Complete.
Smothering.
My heartbeat thundered in the stillness.
Then—
click
A small blue light under the table flickered back on.
Lucian's signal.
Three pulses.
Hold on.
I let out a shaky breath.
"Lucian… hurry…"