The sun hung warm and golden over Moonstone Academy, the kind of late-spring Saturday that made even the ivy-lined stone walls of the east wing glow like a painting.
On the balcony garden, small, tucked away, no bigger than a tennis court, greenery thrived in neat rows of planters, trellises, and pots bursting with herbs, bright flowers, and climbing vines. It smelled faintly of soil warmed by sunlight, damp leaves, and the occasional sweetness of jasmine drifting from the far corner.
Adam crouched near a row of lavender shrubs, scooping water into a tin pail while Bryce leaned lazily against the railing, arms folded, watching as Aiva directed them like a general with her troops.
"Not too much, Adam. You'll drown the poor things," Aiva scolded lightly, brushing a strand of auburn hair from her face. She was wearing a straw hat that looked comically large on her head, though she seemed to wear it with purpose, like it made her the undisputed queen of the balcony garden.
Adam grinned, splashing a little water toward Bryce instead of the soil.
Bryce stepped back just in time, giving him a flat look. "Real mature."
"C'mon, man, it's hot. Cool off." Adam laughed, tilting the pail again so a thin stream arced through the air.
Aiva gave a little gasp. "Hey! Not near the roses!" But even she couldn't suppress a smile when Bryce finally retaliated by flicking a spray from the watering can in Adam's direction. Soon, droplets were catching in the sunlight, shimmering like tiny diamonds as they rained down across the balcony.
For a brief moment, the world outside, exams, politics, grief, didn't exist. It was just the three of them, sunburnt arms and laughter echoing against the stone walls.
But Adam noticed something. Every now and then, when Bryce relaxed, Aiva would step closer, her smile lingering on him a little too long. She reached for his hand at one point, laughing as if it were part of the joke, but Bryce shifted the watering can between them without a second thought.
Adam winced inwardly. He knew enough to recognize when someone was trying to connect, and when the other person wasn't reaching back.
Trying to help, he cleared his throat. "So, uh, Bryce," Adam said, winking not-so-subtly at Aiva, "you ever think about joining gardening club full-time? You look natural here."
Bryce shot him a withering look. "Yeah, because I really want to spend my afternoons babysitting flowers."
Aiva's smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before she disguised it by adjusting her hat. Adam felt the awkward silence creep in and tried to laugh it off, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen.
Anissa.
He answered quickly, stepping toward the balcony door for some privacy. Her voice on the other end was calm, deliberate: "Meet me beyond the archery cabin. The oak tree. Don't take long."
The call ended before he could ask why.
When he returned, Aiva and Bryce were back to their chores, though Aiva's posture was just a bit stiffer, her laugh not quite reaching her eyes. Adam lingered for a second, then made a decision.
"Well," he said, tossing the empty pail aside, "duty calls. I'll leave you two to… bond." He exaggerated the last word, shooting Aiva a mischievous wink.
She rolled her eyes but bit back a smile. Bryce muttered something about Adam being impossible, but Adam caught the faintest pink on Aiva's cheeks before he ducked out, leaving the warm hum of the balcony behind.
The path toward the archery grounds was quieter than usual, the weekend lull settling over the academy. Beyond the training cabin, the land dipped into the edge of Moonstone Forest. The air here was cooler, scented with pine and damp moss, a stark contrast to the sunlit balcony above.
Adam spotted Anissa easily. She was seated at the base of the great oak tree, her posture perfect despite the rough bark behind her. A thick book rested on her lap, its spine cracked with use. Her dark hair framed her face, and in the shifting shade of the leaves, her expression was unreadable.
"You're early," she said without looking up.
"Your call sounded urgent," Adam replied, lowering himself onto the grass beside her. The ground was soft, uneven, and smelled faintly of earth still drying from last night's dew. "What's up?"
Anissa closed her book carefully, marking her place with a sprig of grass. Her gaze fixed on him, sharp and curious. "Tell me… what's love like?"
Adam blinked, caught off guard. "That's… not what I expected you to ask."
"Humor me."
He leaned back on his elbows, squinting up through the branches where sunlight spilled in fractured beams. "Well… it's different for everyone, I guess. But for me? Love's… like a magnet. It pulls you, even when you try to resist. It makes you want to be better, even if you don't know how. And sometimes… it hurts more than anything else in the world."
Anissa tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. "So… unnecessary."
Adam sat up, frowning. "Unnecessary?"
"I'd rather cut it out," she said flatly. "The feelings. Get rid of whoever makes them appear."
The bluntness sent a chill down his spine. He stared at her, half certain she was serious. "Well that's… a pretty dark way to look at it."
Then, just as quickly, she smirked, eyes flashing with amusement. "Relax. I'm joking."
Adam exhaled, shaking his head. "You have a messed-up sense of humor."
"Maybe." She shifted, crossing her arms over her knees. "But tell me this, if someone does feel that way… how would the other person know?"
"Sometimes they don't," Adam admitted. "A lot of people are oblivious. That's why it's better to just… tell them. Say it out loud. Otherwise…" He shrugged. "You might never get the chance."
Anissa went quiet, thoughtful. The forest around them hummed with the sounds of birds and the distant rustle of leaves. Finally, she nodded to herself, as if confirming something internally.
Adam, curious, leaned in. "So… who's the lucky person? You've got a crush?"
Anissa looked at him like he had just sprouted antlers. "You really are stupid sometimes." She stood, brushing off her skirt. "For someone who talks about magnets and destiny, you don't see much, do you?"
Adam frowned. "Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"
But she was already walking away, her book tucked under her arm, her figure slipping into the dappled shadows of the trees.
He sat there for a moment longer, confusion buzzing in his chest. He couldn't tell if she was mocking him, testing him, or… something else entirely.
The only certainty was that she had left him with more questions than answers.
***
The forest pressed in on both sides of the motorcade, dense pines forming a jagged wall of shadow as the convoy wound its way along the dirt track. The crunch of tires on gravel echoed strangely, as though the woods themselves were listening. Alex Farren sat in the backseat of the lead car, one hand resting against the glass, his reflection pale against the blur of green and brown. His jaw was tight, lips pressed in a thin line.
He wasn't listening to the hum of the engine or the faint radio chatter from the driver's earpiece. His mind was back on the call from Elaine, her voice clinical, stripped of warmth, stripped of hesitation.
Phase two begins now. Be ready.
The words replayed like a drumbeat. He hadn't answered right away, hadn't even trusted his own voice when she told him. Now, miles later, he still didn't know if he was ready, or if anyone could be.
The trees thinned suddenly, the forest giving way to a barren clearing where an unassuming outpost stood tucked against the hillside, half-hidden by camouflage netting and stone.
To any outsider it was nothing, a forgotten shack with weather-beaten siding, its windows blind and dark. But the moment the cars rolled close, the ground itself shifted. With a low mechanical groan, a slab of earth and steel pulled back, revealing a yawning underground entrance wide enough to swallow the convoy whole.
The driver didn't slow. The car dipped into the shadow, tires clattering on reinforced plates as the entrance sealed behind them with finality. In seconds, all trace of passage was erased.
Inside, the tunnel stretched for miles, lit in intervals by sterile white strips that hummed faintly, their glow throwing sharp reflections across the polished black concrete. The air smelled of oil and disinfectant, metallic and heavy. After several minutes of descent, the convoy reached the main checkpoint, an iron gate taller than a house, stamped with hazard signs and the kind of warnings meant to keep ordinary men far away.
When the gate finally rolled aside, Alex stepped out. His shoes clicked against the gleaming floor, the sound sharp in the cavernous space. The underground compound buzzed with life: technicians at consoles monitoring readouts, guards with rifles slung across their shoulders, scientists scurrying with clipboards and tablets, their voices layered with nervous urgency.
"Mr. Farren," one of them called, jogging forward. "We've finalized the calibration—"
Another chimed in. "—The energy stabilization models are holding, and we've increased—"
Alex silenced them with a single raised hand. His voice cut like a blade:
"I don't care about calibration or stabilization. Where is the Omega Project?"
The group faltered. A glance passed between them before one nodded stiffly. "This way, sir."
They led him through a maze of reinforced corridors. The walls were painted bone-white, too clean, too hollow. Every few doors bore heavy locks and glowing panels, each checkpoint requiring multiple clearances. The deeper they went, the colder it became, until Alex's breath ghosted faintly in front of him.
At last, they arrived at a door larger than any before, its frame rimmed with red lights. A pair of guards scanned their retinas, typed in codes, then pulled the handle.
The door groaned open.
The first thing Alex noticed was the smell. Acrid, like rust and rot clinging beneath a layer of antiseptic. The air vibrated faintly, like something massive pressed against the walls themselves.
The chamber beyond was enormous, every inch sealed in reinforced glass and steel. In the center stood a contraption that looked less like a machine and more like a shrine to suffering: a cage within a cage, tubes snaking down from the ceiling into restraints bolted into the floor. Electrodes glittered like thorns. Clawed scrapes marred the interior glass, long grooves gouged from desperate hands—or paws.
Inside it, a shape moved.
At first, Alex thought it was a man, until the figure shifted into the light. His breath caught.
Lance Gryphon was gone. What remained barely resembled a human at all. Fur matted and dark with dried fluids clung to a hulking frame. Muscles twitched beneath skin stretched too tight.
His head jerked with unnatural spasms, jaw trembling as thick foam dripped from bared teeth. His eyes were feral, clouded, red-rimmed, rolling wildly as if he were trapped in some endless nightmare.
The creature snarled, low and guttural, pacing in circles like a beast too long caged. Each step reverberated through the chamber, heavy claws clicking against steel.
Alex's chest tightened. He had seen men broken in war. He had seen prisoners driven to madness. But this, this was something different. This was humanity flayed away piece by piece until nothing recognizable remained.
He turned sharply on the lead scientist, his voice hoarse. "What did you do to him?"
The man adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers. "The conditioning protocols… electric stimulation, sensory deprivation, biochemical enhancers. We stripped him of patterns, of memory anchors. His psyche shattered weeks ago. What you see is pure instinct now. Pure wolf."
As if to punctuate the words, Gryphon hurled himself against the glass, saliva spraying, a distorted howl echoing through the chamber. The reinforced wall quaked but held.
Alex flinched despite himself. His gut twisted, bile rising.
The scientist's voice wavered with something between pride and fear. "We succeeded, sir. We created the Omega. The ultimate state of feral dominance, the perfect soldier once. Once we can harness it."
Alex stared into the enclosure. The Werewolf circled endlessly, foam flecking its muzzle, its body vibrating with unspent violence. For a fleeting second, Alex saw not a weapon but a man, broken and begging beneath all that monstrous rage. His guilt pressed down, heavy as the steel above their heads.
"And phase two?" Alex asked, his voice almost strangled.
The scientist brightened, eager. "We're ready. We can escalate trials, expand replication. Our models project containment within parameters."
But Alex wasn't listening anymore. He kept his eyes locked on the beast. His reflection stared back from the glass, superimposed over Gryphon's feral gaze, two men on opposite sides of the same prison.
Phase two.
He swallowed hard, pushing away the guilt, burying the doubt. Convincing himself, again, that this was necessary. That what they built here was worth the cost.
He clenched his jaw, his voice steady this time. "Then begin. Move us to the next stage."
The scientist nodded and hurried away, barking orders. The room filled with motion, technicians scrambling, screens flickering with data.
Alex stayed behind, his hand pressed briefly against the cold glass. Inside, the werewolf snapped at the air, pacing, never resting.
The silence between man and monster felt endless.
Somewhere deep inside, Alex knew. Whatever the scientists thought phase two meant, experiments, scaling, replication, it wasn't the same as what Elaine had whispered to him. He alone carried that truth. And it was darker than any of them suspected.
The werewolf threw itself against the glass once more, the impact booming like a drumbeat.
Alex stepped back, spine stiffening. He forced the guilt away, forced the doubt down, sealing them behind the same steel and glass.
He turned and walked out, leaving the hollow wolf to its madness.