The silence was suffocating.
At first, Rayan thought he could endure it—after all, hadn't he endured worse? The cold eyes of his family, the sharp scalpel glinting under fluorescent lights, the endless nights where his pleas had gone unanswered?
But here, surrounded by silk and glass, the silence was sharper than any blade.
He curled in the corner of the bed, knees tucked against his chest. His breath came too fast, too shallow.
His mind whispered things he didn't want to hear.
You're not safe.
He locked you here because you're useless.
They'll come again. Just like before.
A soft creak echoed in the room—the air system cycling. But in Rayan's mind, it was the clink of metal restraints.
And suddenly, he wasn't in Kael's penthouse anymore.
Flashback
The room smelled of antiseptic.
His wrists were bound, cold steel cutting into tender skin. White-coated figures loomed above him, their voices clinical, detached.
"Subject Omega-13, vitals stable. Increase dosage."
