Anya straightened and looked at Ryan. "Now we'll begin your training again," she said. "Our goal is still the same. Decaying this piece of chicken."
Ryan nodded without hesitation. There were no objections this time. The piece of meat sat on the metal table between them, unchanged despite his earlier attempts. The memory of that failure lingered, sharp and uncomfortable. He wanted it gone. Not just the chicken, but the feeling that came with it.
He closed his eyes and settled his breathing, returning to the process from the beginning. He focused inward, locating the second heart. The sensation came faster now, familiar instead of foreign. He guided the energy slowly, carefully, repeating the same steps he had used with the water bottle. The flow reached his palm.
Nothing happened.
Ryan frowned but didn't stop. He adjusted his focus and tried again, paying closer attention to the internal resistance he'd felt before. The energy moved, but the chicken remained unchanged. He forced himself to remain calm, ignoring the irritation building beneath the surface.
Before he could attempt again, a sharp notification sound cut through the room.
Anya paused mid-step. She pulled out her phone and scanned the message, her expression tightening almost immediately. The change was subtle, but Ryan caught it. The faint ease she usually carried vanished, replaced by something alert and controlled.
Watson noticed it too. "What is it?" he asked.
"A problem in the Holding Wing," Anya replied. "They're requesting immediate inspection."
Her tone was steady, but there was no mistaking the weight behind the words.
Ryan opened his eyes. He hadn't meant to listen, but they weren't exactly whispering. Something about the way Anya had said it made his chest tighten. Holding Wing. He didn't know what that was, but the name alone felt heavy.
Anya looked at him. "Ryan," she said, "I want you to come with me."
He blinked. "Come with you?"
"We're heading to the containment zone," she continued. "Where monsters are imprisoned."
For a moment, Ryan wondered if he had misheard her. Not the part about going with them, but the part about monsters being imprisoned. The words didn't sit right in his head.
"A prison," he repeated slowly. "For monsters?"
The image that surfaced in his mind was immediate and visceral. Black limbs. Distorted movement. The sound of something scraping through flesh. His only encounter with a monster had left no room for nuance. Those things weren't criminals to be locked up. They were disasters waiting to happen.
"Why would anyone build a prison for them?" Ryan asked, his voice tight. "They can't be controlled. They shouldn't even be alive."
The memory of that alley surged forward without permission. His heart rate spiked. He could still feel the helplessness from that night, the certainty that he would have died if circumstances had been even slightly different.
"I can't go," he said. "I can't even decay this." He gestured toward the chicken. "What am I supposed to do against monsters?"
Anya didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. "You staying here alone is more dangerous," she said calmly. "If something happens while we're gone, no one will know until it's too late. If you're with us, we can at least protect you."
Ryan hesitated. Every instinct told him to refuse, to stay where it was safe and familiar. But another thought followed immediately. Monsters didn't care about his fear. They wouldn't see potential. They would only see weakness.
Reluctantly, he nodded.
They moved quickly through the facility, the atmosphere shifting as they descended deeper underground. The corridors grew narrower, the lighting harsher. Ryan's shoulders remained tense the entire way.
When they reached the Holding Wing observation room, he released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Thick reinforced glass separated them from the containment area beyond. There were no alarms blaring. No signs of chaos. Whatever the problem was, it hadn't escalated yet.
"That's good," Ryan muttered. "Nothing's escaped."
One of the staff members stationed there turned toward them. "Not yet," he said. "But the structural readings are unstable."
He pulled up the display. "The containment wall has lost over eighty percent of its durability."
Ryan stared at the numbers. Eighty percent. That didn't sound real. Anya's expression darkened as she leaned closer, scanning the data. Watson stood beside her, his jaw set.
"This can't be right," Watson said.
Anya shook her head. "Run the physical inspection."
They didn't wait for an escort. The three of them exited the observation room and moved into the corridor leading directly toward the containment barrier. Ryan followed a step behind, his pulse loud in his ears.
When the wall came into view, his fear eased despite himself.
It was massive. Thick steel reinforced with layered composites, stretching upward far beyond his line of sight. It looked immovable, indestructible. Whatever monster was behind it, Ryan couldn't imagine it breaking through something like this.
Anya and Watson moved closer, inspecting the surface with practiced precision. Ryan lingered for a moment, unsure of what he was supposed to do.
Then he stepped forward.
He placed his palm against the wall.
The metal was cold, solid beneath his hand. Physically, there was nothing wrong with it. But something else stirred beneath his awareness, faint but unmistakable.
Ryan frowned.
He moved his hand a few inches to the side and pressed again. The sensation returned, slightly stronger this time. It wasn't texture. It wasn't temperature. It felt closer to the moment before his ability activated, that subtle sense of internal misalignment.
He closed his eyes.
Focusing on his second heart, he allowed the energy to circulate without releasing it. As his awareness sharpened, the sensation became clearer. Certain sections of the wall felt different. Not weaker on the surface, but compromised deeper within.
Structural deformation.
Ryan's breath caught.
He moved along the wall, touching different areas, mapping the sensation carefully. The pattern repeated. The same internal weakness, spread unevenly across the structure. Whatever was happening wasn't random. It was deliberate. Progressive.
The weight of it settled into his chest.
This wasn't a failure waiting to happen.
It was already happening.
Ryan pulled his hand away and turned sharply. "Anya," he said, his voice steady despite the tension running through him. "I think I found the reason."