The first light of dawn was a pale, guilty thing. It crept across Drake's face, finding the shadows under his eyes that sleep had refused to erase. The memory of Maya Frey was a ghost in his mind, stirring questions he'd buried. *What am I? Why am I different?* And the most haunting one: *Who, or what, is living inside me?* The presence that had roared to life during the fight had fallen utterly, terrifyingly silent the moment Winston had separated him from the dragon-hilted sword. A glance at the time: 4:17 a.m. The academy would be a tomb at this hour. Perfect.
He moved through his routine like a specter—shower, uniform, all performed with a numb, sluggish dread. By 4:45 a.m., he strolled through the hollow silence of the dormitories, his footsteps the only sound. Seeking solace, he turned down a sterile, white service corridor he'd never noticed before, the air tasting of recycled oxygen.
He rounded a corner and nearly collided with them.
Maya Frey. And Garlack.
Drake froze. She looked different than she had yesterday—cleaner, the desperation in her eyes banked into a grim resolve. But the sight of her sent a jolt of primal fear through him.
"Move it," Garlack grunted, nudging her forward. His grip on her arm was impersonal, tight.
They passed, but Drake felt the weight of her backward glance, a silent communication of shared dread. He could feel Garlack's impatience like a physical pressure.
"You are supposed to be discreet," Garlack's voice was a low rumble in the empty hall.
"You can't blame me," Maya retorted, her voice hushed but sharp. "No one should be here at this hour. That kid... he's an abnormal one."
Garlack's stoic expression didn't flicker, but a spark of cold curiosity ignited in his eyes. *Abnormal.* The word hung in the air long after they had disappeared around the corner.
---
Maya and Garlack arrived at the medical wing, where the doors slid apart with a pneumatic hiss. The department was filled with various staff moving from one end to the other—doctors, nurses, technicians, and others.
"Let's go," Garlack said as he led her through the stampede of medical staff. They made a few turns before descending a flurry of stairs to another section which seemed far different from that above. The air was colder, quieter, and the place was far more organized. It felt more like a morgue than a clinic.
They went through a sterilization pod where both Maya and Garlack changed into all-white coveralls with full-face masks.
The room they entered was a forest of suspended pods, angled sharply, most of them dark and empty.
A nurse, her face obscured save for her eyes above a filtration mask, greeted them with a silent nod and led them to a single illuminated pod.
Maya's breath hitched. Inside lay Connor.
Whatever resolve she had shattered at the sight of him. Her cousin was a nightmare version of himself. A web of violent red veins pulsed from his chest, crawling over his skin like poisonous roots. Each ragged, wheezing breath he took behind the oxygen mask was a struggle that echoed in the sterile silence. A sob escaped Maya's lips before she could choke it back. Even Garlack, a statue of discipline, seemed to stiffen, his jaw tightening.
"Bring him down," the nurse signified, and in a few seconds, the pod began to hover close to the ground before it inclined to a horizontal level below Maya's chest with a soft hydraulic whir.
*Tch!*
A sharp release of pressure, and the pod opened. The nurse carefully removed the mask and sensors.
Connor remained still and pale, and then his eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain.
"Aunt Maya?" The words were a raw scrape against his throat. He'd called her that since childhood, the age gap between them feeling more like generations than years.
"You came," he struggled to say.
Tears streamed down Maya's face as she fell to her knees beside the pod, clutching his icy hand. "I'm here. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner."
"It hurts!" he said. "I know, my boy. I know," her voice broke.
"I thought you left me too," Connor said between wheezed breaths.
"Never."
She cupped his face, her thumb brushing away a tear. "I have something for you. It's going to make the pain stop."
"Wh—"
"Shhh!"
His question died on his lips as she pressed a finger to them. "Don't speak."
She could see he was in intense pain. He suffered for every word he spoke.
"It's not going to hurt anymore," she said. "Auntie has a cure for you." She signaled to the nurse, who replaced the oxygen mask. Connor's eyes fluttered shut as sedatives washed through him.
With trembling hands, Maya pulled the green vial from her pocket.
"Bring me a syringe," she said to the nurse standing beside her and Garlack.
"A syringe. Now," the nurse ordered one of her subordinates.
The order was snapped, and a subordinate nurse rushed forward with a gun-like injector. Maya's hands, usually so steady in a lab, fumbled as she locked the vial into place. The nurse passed a scanner over Connor's arm; his veins glowed a sickly orange, marking the target.
"This will make you better," Maya whispered, more a prayer than a statement.
She pressed the injector to his skin. A soft hiss.
For five full seconds, nothing.
Then Connor's body arched off the table in a violent, bone-snapping convulsion. A guttural, inhuman growl tore from his throat, a sound that didn't belong to any teenager. After a few seconds, Connor became completely still, and the heart monitor went flat.
As Garlack moved, the medical team erupted into controlled chaos. "Flatline! Charge the defibrillator! Get me 10cc of adrenaline, now!" a nurse yelled, shoving past Garlack to get to Connor's body.
Garlack's hand shot out, clamping around Maya's throat like a vice. Her aura flared and died instantly, snuffed out by his overwhelming pressure. "You will answer to Winston for this," he growled, his voice a deadly whisper. "You treacherous viper."
The head nurse snapped, "Release her! This is a medical facility! If he's gone, we need her alive for answers!"
A single, steady beep from the heart monitor cut through the tension. The medical team froze, their frantic movements halting mid-action as they stared at the monitor in stunned disbelief.
Garlack's grip loosened in shock. The head nurse slapped his arm. "Let her go, you fool! You'll kill her!"
She fell to the ground and began coughing violently. Her neck was red with the signs of Garlack's hand around her neck.
"It's purification! It has to be violent, you fucking brute!" she rasped, her voice shredded.
But his attention was elsewhere. Everyone's was.
The crimson veins snaking across Connor's body were receding, fading like dying embers. Color flooded back into his waxy skin. In under two minutes, he looked not just healed, but... remade.
In a fluid, unnerving motion, the naked young man sat up, viscous fluid sloughing off him. He swung his legs over the side of the pod and stood, moving with a grace that was utterly alien. He stretched his arms, joints popping softly in the dead silence.
Then his eyes opened. They were clear, piercing, and held a cold, ancient depth that froze the blood in Maya's veins. A slow, unnerving smile stretched his lips—an expression she had never seen on her cousin's face.
His gaze locked onto hers.
"Aunt Maya." The voice was a smooth, resonant baritone, too deep, too controlled. It was a stranger's voice coming from her cousin's throat. The smile didn't reach his chillingly empty eyes. "It worked."