The lights in the Isolation Wing flickered again—
not a simple glitch this time.
It was rhythmic.
Patterned.
Almost like the lights were syncing with my pulse instead of the chamber's systems.
I sat on the cot, arms wrapped around my ribs, trying to breathe through the rising heat crawling under my skin.
Not temperature heat.
Instinctual heat.
Low.
Early.
Unstable.
The kind that whispered from deep in the spine:
You are not meant to be alone right now.
My throat tightened.
The chamber hummed in response—
sensing it
registering it
tracking it.
A sharp tone pierced the air:
"Warning: Prime heat markers detected."
My breath hitched.
"No—no, not now—"
Heat rose again, spiraling down my spine in a warm, dizzying pulse.
The room responded immediately.
The vents blasted cold suppressant air.
Sharp.
Minted.
Burning the back of my throat.
I gagged, pressing a hand to my mouth.
The suppressant numbed my scent, numbed my instincts, numbed me.
For a moment everything dulled into a cold blur.
My vision wavered.
"Stop—please—stop—"
I breathed through clenched teeth.
The mist thickened.
My head dropped forward.
My fingernails scraped the cot frame.
The room's calm voice chimed overhead:
"Heat suppression mode engaged.
Remain still."
"NO—"
My voice broke sharply as another wave of heat surged under the suppression.
My instincts twisted, caught between rising and being pushed down.
It hurt.
Not physically—
but in a bone-deep, instinct-deep way that made me want to curl in on myself.
I gasped and pushed my back against the cold glass to ground myself.
A jolt ran through the panel.
The system stuttered again.
For one second—
just one—
the suppressant failed.
I sucked in a breath—
my scent flared weakly but freely—
and the room glitched hard.
The lights blinked.
Floor vibrated.
Vents stalled.
A faint alarm sounded:
"Prime override detected.
Heat suppression compromised."
The chamber dimmed and hummed—
almost uneasy.
This room could handle an unstable Prime.
It could handle panic.
Terror.
Instinct.
What it couldn't handle…
was heat.
CUT TO — THE MEDBAY: ROWAN COLLAPSES
Rowan shook violently, curled on the bed with knees pressed to his chest.
His breaths came short, catching in his throat as if the air itself was cutting him from the inside.
"Chandler—Chandler it's—too loud—it's—too bright—I can't—breathe—I—"
Chandler immediately covered Rowan's eyes with his palm and cupped the back of his neck with his other hand.
"Breathe, sweetheart. Right here. Focus on me. You're okay."
Rowan shook his head wildly.
"No—no—it's—it's her—she's—she's—Chandler she's burning—"
Chandler went cold.
"What?"
Rowan's voice cracked, raw with panic:
"She's burning—inside—Chandler, she's—SHE'S—"
Lucian shoved through the medbay doors and rushed to the bedside.
"What happened?!"
Chandler held Rowan tighter, grounding him with body pressure.
"I don't know—he suddenly started shaking and said she's—"
Rowan choked on a sob.
"Heat—she's in heat—she's going into—she's going—she's—Chandler it HURTS—"
Chandler's eyes widened in horror.
Lucian froze.
"That's impossible. They're suppressing everything."
Rowan whimpered, curling tighter.
"It's not working—not all of it—she's fighting and it's—dragging me with her—Lucian make it stop—PLEASE make it stop—"
Lucian pressed fingers to Rowan's wrist.
Rowan's pulse was spiraling—
far too fast
far too desperate
the beginning of scent-shock collapse.
Lucian whispered:
"…Oh god. He's linked."
Chandler glared.
"What does that mean?!"
"Rowan's bond sensitivity is too high," Lucian said through clenched teeth.
"He's feeling the heat suppression—her body's fight against it."
Rowan sobbed louder.
"I can't—I CAN'T—Chandler—help me—please—please—make it stop—"
Chandler's arms tightened around him.
"Look at me, Rowan. Look at me. You're not doing this alone. Hear me?"
Rowan's nails dug into Chandler's forearms.
"It hurts—Chandler—it HURTS—"
Lucian swallowed hard.
"I need to get to the grid now—this could break him."
Chandler snapped:
"Then RUN."
Lucian did.
CUT TO — HORACE: HALLUCINATIONS BEGIN
Horace had managed to sit up on the edge of the bed again, gripping the mattress tightly.
Sweat soaked his hair.
His breath came ragged.
But his eyes—
they were focused somewhere else.
Lucian wasn't in the room.
Rowan wasn't in the room.
Chandler wasn't in the room.
But Horace—
He wasn't seeing the medbay.
He was seeing her.
"Elleanore…"
His voice was hoarse, low.
He reached out a shaking hand.
"Elleanore—wait—don't—"
His fingers grasped empty air.
The hallucination didn't answer.
He pressed his palm to his sternum, panting.
"I can feel you—why can I feel you—"
His voice shook.
"Why does it feel like you're burning—?"
He gasped, doubling over with a sharp, visceral pain in his chest—
phantom but real.
His body reacting instinctively to her heat spike even though it wasn't fully his to feel.
He gritted his teeth.
"Elle—
please—
stop fighting alone—"
He didn't ask how he knew.
He just knew.
His bond had deepened past suppression.
Past sedation.
Past logic.
Horace whispered into the empty room:
"…I'm coming."
He pushed himself to stand—
and his knees buckled.
He hit the floor.
Hard.
But he didn't stop trying.
CUT BACK TO — THE ISOLATION WING: THE SURGE
Another wave of heat hit.
My back arched instinctively.
I grabbed the cot frame again and nearly pulled it down with me.
I whispered a shaky, desperate sound:
"Stop—stop—please—"
The room didn't.
The suppressant floods increased.
My instincts fought back.
The chamber lights flared so bright I had to squeeze my eyes shut.
The pressure in my chest rose like a rising tide—
heavy
warm
dangerously instinctual.
I gasped, clutching my chest.
"No—no—don't—don't do this here—"
My scent tried to flare—
instinct calling for something
someone
Anchors
Touch
Comfort
Stability
A bondmate
A scent to ground me—
But the suppression shoved it down.
My throat burned.
My spine shuddered.
I whimpered into my sleeve:
"Please…"
I hadn't asked the room.
I had asked someone else.
Anyone else.
Anyone who could hear me.
Rowan.
Chandler.
Lucian.
Horace—
Especially Horace.
My instincts curled toward him like a reaching hand.
The lights buzzed.
The entire chamber vibrated—
and then—
a single sound cut through everything:
ding
The small blue light under the table blinked steadily.
Then flickered into a rapid pulse.
Lucian's emergency code.
I found the breach.
Hold on.
I'm coming.
My breath hitched.
I slid off the cot again and pressed both hands to the floor, trying to steady the overwhelming instinct surge.
My fingers dug into the tiles.
I whispered:
"Lucian… please hurry…"
Pressure That Breaks Things Open
The floor felt too warm.
Not warm like heat—
warm like a pulse.
Like the room itself was reacting to me, syncing to the rhythm rolling under my skin.
My breath came shallow and sharp.
My palms pressed into the tile, fingers curled tight as another wave of heat crawled up my spine.
I tried to swallow it down.
I couldn't.
Not this time.
The room registered it immediately.
A sharp tone chimed overhead:
"Prime heat signature rising."
"Stage-1 complexity breached."
My heart skipped.
"No—no, don't—"
"Beginning Stage-2 suppression."
The vents hissed violently.
A cloud of cold, bitter suppressant enveloped me like icy fog.
I choked.
Coughed hard.
Pressed the back of my hand to my mouth.
"No—STOP—!"
The suppressant didn't care.
The mist thickened, coating my throat with sharp mint and metallic tang. It dulled everything—my senses, my warmth, even my fear.
My head dipped forward.
My arms trembled.
I was losing the warmth.
Losing the instinct.
Losing myself.
But deep beneath the suppression—
a spark still thrashed.
Not rage.
Not violence.
A bone-deep longing.
Horace.
Rowan.
Chandler.
My instinct wanted them.
Any one of them.
All of them.
Comfort.
Touch.
Scent.
Warmth.
Something to ground me before the suppressant crushed me flat.
I whispered into my knees:
"Please. Please… don't let this happen here."
The chamber hummed in stiff reply.
Then—
static jolted the floor.
Lucian's code.
Fast, urgent pulses:
They pushed you too hard.
I'm breaking in.
A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it.
"Lucian… hurry…"
MEDBAY — ROWAN CRASHES
Rowan convulsed once—
sharp, violent, too sudden—
and Chandler barely managed to catch him before he collapsed off the bed.
"ROWAN—!"
Rowan gasped, clawing at Chandler's collar like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline.
"It hurts—Chandler—Chandler—make it stop—please—please—make it stop—"
His voice broke completely.
Chandler wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him tight against his chest, grounding him with sheer physical strength.
"I'm here. I'm right here. Look at me."
Rowan shook his head furiously.
"No—I can't—I can't breathe—I can't—I can't—!"
His breath spiked into high, choking gasps.
Chandler panicked.
"Lucian! LUCIAN—!"
Lucian sprinted back into the room, eyes sharp with fear.
"What happened?"
Chandler held Rowan tighter.
"He's crashing! He can't smell anything, he can't sense—he's spiraling—his body thinks she's—"
Rowan sobbed so violently he choked.
"S-she's burning—she's dying—she's being crushed—Chandler I FEEL IT—"
Lucian froze.
"No. No, no, no—this is beyond sensitivity—this is—this is bond feedback—"
Chandler whipped his head up.
"What does that mean?!"
Lucian grabbed Rowan's trembling wrist, checking his pulse.
"It means Rowan is reacting like he's her partner."
Chandler's breath caught.
Rowan whimpered.
"Chandler—help me—HELP ME—"
Chandler held him like a terrified child.
"I've got you—I've got you—I won't let you fall apart—"
Lucian's voice shook.
"If Rowan stays in this state—his glands could collapse."
Chandler's heart stopped.
"What do I do?! Lucian—WHAT DO I DO?!"
Lucian ran a trembling hand through his hair.
"There's only one thing that stabilizes scent-shock at this level…"
Chandler pulled Rowan tighter.
"What?"
Lucian hesitated.
"…scent bonding. With someone safe."
Chandler stiffened.
Rowan let out a broken sob.
"Chandler—please—don't leave me—d-don't leave—"
Chandler's eyes closed in pained surrender.
"Rowan. Come here."
He pressed his nose into Rowan's hair, inhaling deep—
gifting Rowan the one thing his omega body needed:
a familiar scent to anchor to.
Rowan collapsed against him with a soft, broken sound.
His body shook uncontrollably, then slowly—
slowly—
began to relax.
Chandler whispered into his ear:
"I've got you. You're safe. I promise."
Lucian swallowed.
"…Good. Keep holding him."
Chandler didn't let go.
Not for a second.
HORACE — HALLUCINATIONS GROW SHARPER
Horace stood again.
Barefoot.
Shaking.
Still covered in drying sweat.
But standing.
Lucian wasn't there.
Chandler was consoling Rowan.
The medbay was empty except for glowing monitors.
Horace gripped the IV stand to stay upright.
He saw her.
Not fully.
Not clearly.
Just flashes—
Elleanore on the floor of the chamber.
Her hand trembling.
Her chest tight.
Her breath ragged.
He reached out—
and his fingers brushed empty air.
"Elle…"
His voice cracked.
He steadied himself against the wall.
Another hallucination—
her voice.
Horace…
Soft.
Hoarse.
Pained.
He swallowed hard.
"I'm coming…"
He staggered toward the door.
His legs nearly buckled.
He didn't care.
He reached the frame—grabbed it—kept himself upright through sheer instinct.
He whispered through clenched teeth:
"Don't be afraid.
I'm coming.
I'm coming for you."
BACK IN ISOLATION — STAGE-2 HEAT
The suppression mist cycled again.
My breath hitched.
My heart thudded painfully.
And then—
the second wave hit.
Heat rolled through me like a physical force.
Not arousal.
Not yet.
Just instinct meeting confinement.
My hands clenched so hard my nails bit into my palms.
A soft cry escaped me before I could stop it.
"Please—stop—stop—"
The room didn't stop.
It reacted.
The ceiling flickered violently.
"Prime heat: Stage-2 confirmed."
"Instinct spikes critical."
"Increasing suppressant dosage."
The vents blasted a cloud of frigid mist.
It hit me like ice water.
My body jerked.
My back collided with the glass wall.
I gasped, choking on cold.
My scent flared weakly—
crushed again—
flared—
crushed—
a rhythmic suffocation.
Every instinct screamed:
I need warmth.
I need scent.
I need someone.
Anyone.
Anchor.
Touch—
I whimpered:
"Please—someone—someone hear me—"
My voice cracked into silence.
My vision blurred.
And then—
in the corner of the room—
the small blue light blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Fast.
Rapid.
Lucian's emergency code.
I found the override.
Hold on.
I'm breaking the grid.
I pressed my forehead to the cold glass.
"Lucian… hurry…"
Because I didn't know how long I could keep myself stable.
Not like this.
Not alone.
Not suppressed while heat twisted inside me like wildfire trying to escape water.
My chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.
My voice slipped out in a fragile whisper:
"Horace… help me…"
The chamber lights glitched again.
A spark danced across the floor panel.
Lucian was close.
I held onto that.
I had to.
Because my instincts were rising faster than I could suppress them myself.
And the room—
the room wasn't prepared for a Prime in early heat.
The system whispered:
"Containment breach risk: HIGH."
I laughed.
A broken, breathless, exhausted laugh.
"No kidding."
The lights flickered—
and then the chamber shook.
Hard.
Something had just failed.
And not inside the room.
Outside of it.