They unloaded the crates with a mix of efficiency and disregard. The hybrids were tugged out like objects, stripped of identity. I stayed silent, watching as one handler barked orders while the others got to work. The building buzzed around us—quiet, secretive, cold.
Nine's crate was the last to be pulled out, a brutal clang echoing off the concrete walls as it landed. The workers didn't care that he'd been curled in there too long, didn't care that his knees must've locked up or that his body had barely recovered. They wrenched the door open, grabbed his arm, and yanked.
He stumbled.
No one waited. They dragged him forward, too fast for his limbs to keep up. His knees buckled again, but the handler just grunted and kept pulling. One of the men—bigger, meaner—chuckled as Nine collapsed, only to be hauled up again like a sack of grain.
I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood.
The scent of soap and bleach and sterilization hit me before we even reached the secondary holding. They shoved Nine inside like trash, barely giving him a second to catch his breath. There was a cold metal bench. Nothing else. A hose waited in the corner.
They didn't even give him time to brace before spraying him down. Cold water blasted against his skin, and I could see him flinch, every muscle going taut. He didn't scream. He never screamed. Just trembled, eyes shut tight, face turned away.
A worker laughed. "Still pretty, even after all that."
Then his hand dipped too low. Casual. Deliberate. A grope, cruel and possessive.
Nyx snarled, sharp and sudden. Let me take over. I'll rip his hand off and make him eat it.
My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms. But I didn't move. I couldn't—not yet.
Another hybrid nearby was being kicked. Again. Again. Curled on the ground and whimpering.
I swallowed down bile.
At least it wasn't Nine.
When the workers started hauling Nine toward the door, I stepped forward before they could yank on the leash again.
"He needs to be perfect for the Supreme Leader," I said coolly. "That's my job. I'll take it from here."
The handler raised a brow, looking like he wanted to argue. But something in my tone must've hit, because he let go. Nine wobbled once, confused, but I caught the leash and steadied him.
He blinked at me. Drenched. Silent.
I adjusted my grip and whispered, "It's okay. I've got you."
He didn't answer. Just leaned slightly into my side, as if he didn't even realize he was doing it.
I led him out. Slow. Careful. My body shielding his where I could.
Nyx hissed, soft and guttural. If they touch him again, I swear—
I didn't reply. Didn't need to. She knew. We were both thinking the same thing.
Just a little longer.
We were almost there.