The screen in front of Naiara flickered softly, its cold light slicing through the sterile room.
The man's voice, that low, velvety tone she had learned to hate, filled the space like poison. He never showed his face. Only a silhouette, elegant and distant, sitting somewhere far away, powerful enough to decide her fate.
"You know, Naiara," he said, his tone calm, almost amused, "there's something extraordinary about you. You break, but you don't shatter. You bleed, but you don't die. You're a rare anomaly."
She sat motionless, her hands clenching her knees.
"I'm not an experiment," she whispered.
A pause. Then a quiet chuckle.
"Oh, but you are. You have been since the day you were born. Not perfected yet, but we're getting there."
Naiara's breath came faster, her chest rising and falling.
"What do you want from me?"
"The truth," he said smoothly. "I want to know how much your mind can take before it collapses. I want to see the moment you beg to be destroyed."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Now, let's see how long it takes your wounds to heal. That way, I'll know where to strike… and how hard."
Her nails dug into her palms.
"I'll never give you what you want."
"Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmured, smiling faintly. "I won't leave you any scars… at least, not on your body."
That laugh, that sick, hollow laugh, was the last thing she heard before something inside her snapped.
She shot to her feet, grabbed the monitor, and slammed it to the ground with all her strength.
Glass exploded, the image went black.
A second later, the door burst open. The Observer entered.
Silence. His steps were slow, deliberate.
Naiara didn't move. Her heart was pounding, but she refused to retreat.
He stared at her for a long moment… and then hit her.
The punch was brutal, sharp, final.
Pain exploded across her face, blood sliding warm down her chin.
The Observer crouched, forced her to lift her head, and calmly replaced the shattered monitor with a spare.
With a few precise touches, the connection was restored.
The man's image returned, flawless, composed, as if nothing had happened.
"What a delightful scene," he said. "There's nothing purer than rebellion right before submission."
Then, turning to the Observer, he added coldly: "Follow the instructions I sent you. And when you're done, patch her up. But no painkillers. This one has spirit… she needs to be broken."
The call ended.
The Observer wiped his hands and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Out in the corridor, Damian had heard everything. Every word. Every laugh. Every scream.
He was hidden in the shadows, his breathing tense, his fists clenched so hard they ached.
Inside him, fury and fear collided like live wires.
That's enough.
He waited until the voices faded.
Two guards remained by the door.
Two swift strikes and they were down.
Silence.
He opened the door.
The smell of blood and disinfectant hit him like a slap.
Naiara was on the floor, half-slumped against the wall, one arm pressed weakly against her ribs.
When she heard him, she lifted her gaze.
"Leo…?"
Damian froze. That name again. For her, he wasn't Damian. He was Leo, the man she loved, the brother he had lost.
He knelt beside her, forcing his voice to stay steady.
"I'm here," he said softly. "I'm getting you out."
She tried to shake her head.
"No… they'll catch you…"
"Shh," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "No one's taking me. I promise, no one's hurting you again."
He slipped one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and lifted her carefully. She gasped in pain.
"I know," he murmured. "I'm sorry."
Her forehead rested against his shoulder, her body trembling.
"Leo…" she breathed, her voice barely audible. "I love you."
The world stopped. Damian's stomach twisted. That I love you wasn't for him.
It belonged to someone else.
To the man she still saw in him, the man she was dying to see again.
He could have told her the truth.
He could have shattered the illusion. But she was bleeding in his arms. And breaking her hope would have been crueler than any lie.
So he did the only thing he could.
He lied, the most painful lie of his life.
"I love you too," he whispered, voice trembling. "And I'll never let you go."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Take me away…"
"I am," he said softly.
Then came the sound, a sharp metallic click.
The power cut out. Darkness swallowed everything.
Leo. Ethan. Clara.
Damian knew immediately, Leo was inside.
It was time.
Two guards appeared at the corner. He struck fast, precise. One fell with a grunt, the other hit the floor seconds later.
"Don't leave me…" she murmured weakly.
"Never," he breathed.
They slipped down the corridor and pushed through the exit. Cold night air slashed their faces as they vanished into the woods.
Behind them, chaos erupted.
Inside, Leo and Ethan fought in the dark.
Bodies crashed. Gunfire echoed. The air reeked of ozone and blood.
At last, only one enemy remained, the Observer.
Ethan shoved him against the control desk, pressing a gun to his throat.
Leo stepped closer, his eyes burning.
"Who sent you?"
The Observer smiled. A blood-stained grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"Who sent me?" he repeated, almost amused.
He licked the blood from his lips.
"You're already dead, soldier." And he laughed, a deep, guttural sound, the kind of laugh that belongs to monsters.