His world drowned in layers of fabric. Blinded.

  Relying on other senses.

  First—Sound.

  Engines. Rotors. Armor plates shifting with every breath around him. A rhythmic clack of boots finding their place on the vibrating floor.

  Second—smell.

  Gas. Hot oil. Rubber. And underneath it. Something sweet. Not perfume-sweet. Like chemicals. Antiseptic for teeth.

  Karauros wrists were bound together. A metallic muzzle cinched his mouth shut. A tight mechanical seal was pressing against his jaws.

  A tether hummed from his throat. A choker. A leash.

  He could feel the pulse of it like a live wire.

  He didn’t pull. Already tested its measured rules.

  Defiance would cost him pain.

  A voice slid through the background noise.

  Noose. He recalled Nera calling her by name.

  “We’ll have to see what your kind is capable of,” she said, amused in a way that wasn’t playful.

  “You’ve piqued my curiosity, mutt.”

  Karauros breath slowed.

  His head turned towards her voice, even through the blindfold, made it useless.

  The tether buzzed once—warning pressure—like fingers tapping his throat.

  Noose scoffed quietly.

  “Good, you learn fast.”

  Another voice cut from across the cabin. Male. Familiar in the worst way.

  “Noose,” they snapped. “Why are you taking off the muzzle and blindfold?”

  She paused after removing the blindfold. The muzzle loosened enough for Karauro to lick his dried lips and not shred his throat.

  His eyes opened finally as lights stabbed them. Lightly shaking the blurred vision off. Pupils constricting.

  The cabin was narrow—an Onyx aircraft. Matte-black panels and red indicator strips. Harness points along the walls. Weapons racks emptied, Onyx soldiers holding them already.

  Noose sat across from him, one leg crossed, posture loose like she was in a lounge instead of a cage in the sky. Just a bodysuit. A pistol rested against her thigh, as if it belonged there.

  Her sky blue winter eyes still fixed onto him.

  Beside the rear hatch stood Eugene. One of Spine's elites.

  Wearing no insignia. Like he wanted no association marking him.

  His jaw was tight, and his shoulders were squared, trying to look like he wasn’t out of his depth.

  Karauros eyes flared without permission.

  Orange rings bled through the dark brown.

  A slight smile crept over his lips.

  He shook his head.

  “Yeah, I figured as much. I’m not surprised, though,” he said, his voice hoarse from the restraint. “It’s more of a letdown, really. If it were someone like Roy or Whren—but you, Eugene.”

  Eugene's lips curled. “This was bound to happen to you, being unstable and all.”

  “Yea, yea, and you, yet somehow you never exactly screamed loyalty to Spine.”

  He leaned forward enough to make Eugene's hand twitch toward his weapon.

  Karauros smile sharpened. He savored the reaction.

  “That face never screams. I’m not a good person either,” Eugene growled.

  Karauro let out a soft, tired laugh.

  “Never claimed to be morally good,” he said. “Yet somehow Spine thought you mattered enough to be standing among Argos. To me, you never mattered much.

  Eugene took a step forward. Cocking his pistol onto Karauros temple.

  Noose didn’t move.

  She didn’t have to.

  Her gaze hit Eugene like a blade tip.

  He removed the barrel, stowing it back into his holster.

  “Put the muzzle back on,” he snapped, trying to reclaim authority. “We don’t need him talking.”

  Noose’s head tilted. Not playful. Not curious. Deciding.

  “No,” she said.

  Eugene blinked, like he hadn’t expected that.

  Noose’s fingers rested on her pistol. Casual. Absolute.

  “I was chosen to be his handler,” she said. “So, no.”

  Eugene paused for a second. His nostrils flared. He scuffed his boots against the floor like a child trying to hide anger. “Fine.”

  Karauro watched the exchange like he was watching two knives argue about which got to cut first.

  His head tilted towards Noose.

  “You chose the leash?” he said a little curiously.

  Her mouth lifted. “I didn’t choose you. I was assigned.”

  Karauro leaned back with the restraints.

  “Yeah, same thing,” he said confidently.

  Noose’s smile didn’t reach her eyes this time.

  “Keep poking, mutt,” she murmured. “And I’ll remind you what the leash does again.”

  His gaze dropped to the bracelet on her wrist.

  The tether pulsed between them, faintly.

  He believed her. He simply didn't care enough to pretend otherwise.

  The aircraft pitched. Cabin lights flickered, then steadied. Red strips above the hatch turned green. The rear door hissed open.

  Eugene stepped out first, boots hitting the metal platform, trembling under its engine. Another aircraft sat nearby, heavier—command transport.

  Verran stood by it.

  Grey-white Nexon-suit. Clean lines. No scratches. He appeared as though he had never engaged in any combat that resulted in injuries.

  He patted a soldier next to him, flicked his eyes to Eugene approaching, expression mild.

  Like this was paperwork.

  Eugene jerked his chin towards the open hatch. “Are you sure about trusting it with the handler?”

  Noose stood by the doorway behind Karauro, framed by the cabin lights. Her eyes stayed on Eugene.

  Cold, expressionless.

  Verran scoffed. “Certainty has always been overrated,” amused “It keeps things…interesting.”

  He stepped forward towards Eugene, lowering his voice as if he were sharing gossip. “She’s good at what she does.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Eugene glanced away, weary from Noose’s unwavering glare.

  Verran turned, already headed towards the command aircraft. “We’ll drop you off at your fake location. Your ping is spoofed. Your story is clean.”

  He looked back over his shoulder.

  “Keep acting as our inside eyes in Spine,” he said. “You’ll be paid, of course.”

  Eugene hesitated. "And if they find out?”

  Verran’s smile didn’t shift.

  “If they do find out,” he said, walking slowly to Eugene. “Then, you didn’t do your job.”

  Two soldiers who stood by opened the aircraft door. “Now come on.”

  Eugene sighed and followed him inside.

  Noose watched him go, like she was memorizing his movements.

  Then she turned back towards Karauro.

  Her finger tapped the bracelet once.

  The tether gave a faint pulse against his throat.

  A reminder.

  “Up,” she said.

  Karauro stood, releasing tension within his jaws.

  Not because she told him to.

  Because staying seated was a weakness and no control over his emotions.

  He walked to the edge of the transport with calculated steps, eyes scanning his surroundings in one sweep—guards, angles, possible exits, and blind corners.

  Noose tracked his scan.

  Expressionless. However, her attention sharpened.

  “You count cameras like you count breathing,” she finally said.

  He shrugged with a smug grin. “Habit”

  She returned a thin smile. “Habits can turn into disasters.”

  ---

  Crown fall—Spine Base

  The Hauler rolled through Spine gate like it didn’t want to be seen with what it carried.

  Cleo parked it hard, tires screeching against the hangar’s concrete floor.

  Unit 7 climbed out like their bones didn’t fit right anymore.

  Silence.

  They were bruised. Shaking. Scraped raw around the edges.

  Alive. Ashamed.

  Argos stood outside of the hangar. Hands behind his back, posture relaxed in a way that he was anything but that.

  His eyes swept the squad.

  Counting. Nothing.

  He paused where someone should’ve been.

  Nera didn’t look at him.

  She didn’t look at anyone.

  Her eyes investigated the Hauler's open rear, like the shape of that missing space could be forced to become a person again.

  Taron threw the hardcase in the back.

  The thing they fought for.

  The item was not worth trading. It was empty now.

  Argos’s voice came blunt. “We’ll figure out what to do about our mutt.”

  Nera didn’t respond. Her jaw was tight. Face empty.

  Almost mechanical.

  Aaron moved towards her cybernetic eyes, dimmer than usual. He reaches out.

  —Argos stopped him, hand lightly drawing a line across his torso. Shaking his head.

  “Let her be.” Argos said quietly. “She’ll simmer down.”

  Aaron’s mouth tightened. He hated it.

  But listened.

  No one approached Nera. No one made the mistake of putting a hand on her right now.

  She walked past them.

  Not fast. Not slow. Just forward.

  Like she’d shed every soft part of herself at Monarch’s lab and left it under the Warden’s boots.

  In her mind, a line repeated—cold as steel.

  You’re not going to disappear again.

  Onyx Holding Wing—Unknown Sector

  Steel doors. White lights. Sterile air didn’t smell like medicine. More like procedures.

  Noose walked Karauro down the corridor. The leash was humming between them.

  Her bracelet was tethered to both muzzle and throat collar.

  It pulsed, like a threat that never slept.

  He stayed half behind her.

  Tracking. Positioning. The camera swiveled onto them.

  She noticed.

  “Keep looking for angles,” she said. “Try it and you’ll face something worse than this leash.”

  Karauros eyes slid to her wrist again.

  “I figured,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

  They stopped at a room with steel doors. A pillar with a biometric lock. She pressed her palm onto the scanner.

  A soft chime. The door slid open.

  Noose stepped aside, gesturing to him like a host welcoming a guest. In his case, a prisoner.

  A cot bolted to the floor. A drain in the corner. A camera dome. Strips of reinforced glass that peered into the room.

  Observation.

  Not comfort. Karauro walked in anyway.

  Noose followed behind. Doors hissed shut, followed by several clicks.

  Locks.

  Her hands reached up and unlatched the muzzle, but not fully.

  He looked at her.

  Matching her expression.

  Sarcasm slid over his voice like the only armor he had. Taken away and replaced with white clothes.

  “What,” he said, smirking. “You’re not here to keep me warm?”

  Let us see what rattles her cage.

  Noose’s mouth curved.

  “I’ve heard that before,” she said. “It does sound tempting—if you weren’t our asset.”

  Karauro froze for a second, a short laugh.

  “Asset right,” he repeated. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

  She stepped closer, stopping at arm’s reach.

  Her eyes flicked from head to toe, like she was cataloguing weapons.

  “You’re going to keep poking?” She spoke.

  He lifted a brow. “Maybe I like seeing what might set you off.”

  Again, her smile sharpened.

  Karauro held her gaze.

  Not blinking.

  The tether gave a faint whine—low enough for only him to feel it.

  Karauros expression didn’t falter.

  His eyes flickered orange for half a second. Noose noticed.

  Of course she did.

  “Interesting,” she murmured.

  He leaned his back against the wall, like he owned it.

  “You’re watching me like how Nera does,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  Noose’s eyes cooled.

  “You think this is about her?” She asked firmly.

  Again, he shrugged his shoulders. “You tell me.”

  She didn’t answer. Her silence had shape.

  ---

  The glass on the far wall brightened.

  A door slid open on the other side.

  Verran walked inside.

  Grey-white suit. Red-tinted glasses and dust-colored hair slicked back. Moving calmly.

  Looked at Karauro like he was reading a file. Then glanced at Noose and nodded.

  “Handler,” he said.

  Noose returned a single nod back.

  Karauros smile faded into unpleasantness.

  “Boss here to welcome me?” He asked.

  Verran stretched his arms out.

  “No suit, no weapons, no comms.” He tapped something onto his wrist console.

  A holo-feed displaying his Nexon suit flickering—then died.

  Even if your suit had a tracker, it’s useless here.” He paused. “So where does that confidence come from?”

  “Ah, K-19, you think we lack countermeasures for your Ichor factor?” Verran said through the glass, his voice amplified by a boxed device bolted to either side.

  Noose watched Karauros reaction like she wanted to see panic.

  He didn’t give it.

  Verran sat in a chair, pouring hot liquid into his mug. “First things first,” he said, taking a sip. “You’ll wear the Scorn-Veil Suit.” He finished the sentence with a finality that left no room for debate.

  Karauros eyes narrowed. “Is that the suit in its secondary hardcase?”

  With a swift nod, Verran's lips curled into a smile. “You’re quick.”

  Karauros jaws tightened.

  “I’m not putting on some Monarch experiment.”

  Verran’s expression stayed mild.

  “We’re not Monarch,” he said. “And you’re in no position to negotiate corporate politics.”

  A muscle jumped in Karauros cheeks.

  Moving from side to side onto a desk chair, Verran went on.

  “Deimos chambers,” those words came out. “Infiltration. Retrieval. Containment.”

  Karauros breath stilled.

  Not out of fear. But recognition.

  He’d done it once. Leaving a mess of flames.

  Verran watched his face.

  “Exactly,” he said, like he read Karauros thoughts. “You’ve done it already; it shouldn’t be difficult, and you’ll do it again.”

  Air returned into Karauros lungs, then out through his nose.

  “And if I refuse?” He felt stupid asking.

  Noose’s fingers rested onto her pistol.

  Verran’s voice remained calm.

  “Should you refuse,” He said, “Well, for one, you’ll become expensive to keep alive, so Spine would have to fit the bill. By erasure.”

  Karauro smiled anyways. “Honest,”

  Verran returned it with a smirk. “I try.”

  Faint sounds came through the wall—like a lock opening somewhere else within the wing.

  “Scorn-Veil, a suit designed to interface,” Verran said. “Not consume, well, if one possesses the strain.”

  Karauros eyes flashed orange at the words.

  Noose’s focus tightened. Verran lifted a hand, steady.

  “Your strain,” he paused. “Partial compatibility. Enough to keep you from being eaten by the suit we built and had stolen.”

  Karauros throat went dry. Not by fear. But by his blood boiling.

  He stepped towards the glass.

  Noose didn’t stop him.

  She analyzed, looking to see how close he’d get before the leash turned him inside out.

  He stopped, a handspan away from the barrier. His reflection stared back.

  Orange-rings devouring more of his brown irises.

  A boy wearing a monster’s file number.

  “Why me?” he finally said quietly. “Why not toss one of your own dogs in there?”

  Verran’s gaze drifted for a moment.

  “Because our dogs follow orders,” replying to Karauros questions. “And you seem to survive plenty of things you shouldn’t.”

  Leaning closer to the glass, voice dropping.

  “You’re one of them, Wraith, Val Sahara. You must have noticed by now.”

  “What do you mean by ‘them’?” Karauro scoffed.

  “Partially a Grim borne, defective, unstable—not what they wanted. Yet here you are, alive.” Verran smiled, stood up, and moved towards the door. Before stepping out, he glanced back at Karauro.

  “So, if you want Spine to escape the flames and avoid becoming one with the ruins, follow my instructions. Deimos drop in 30,” Verran said, then whistled a tune as he slipped through the doors.