The siren's cry trembled through the floor, through the metal, through my bones. It wasn't a warning; it was a summoning. Something in this facility had waited for movement, for breath, for the turn of a key. And my presence — our steps — had unlocked it.
Ronan's hand tightened around mine, steady and hot, grounding me even as the walls themselves seemed to shudder awake.
"Elena." His voice dropped to that low, protective tone that lived between instinct and command. "Stay close. No matter what happens."
I nodded because my voice wouldn't come. The echo of the dissolved creature still clung to the air like shadow-dust. The symbol it drew still burned faintly behind my eyelids. And the room felt smaller now — not because it was shrinking, but because the facility itself was focusing on us.
Focusing on me.
Observation 49: When Ronan prepares to face something unknown, his breath slows instead of quickens.
That's how I knew he was thinking—not panicking, not hesitating, but measuring the world in instincts I didn't possess. He tilted his head slightly, listening to the shifts deeper in the facility. The siren wasn't alone anymore. Beneath it was a thrum. A pulse. Multiple pulses. Moving. Advancing.
We stepped into the corridor again, and the lights reacted instantly, brightening further down the hall and dropping behind us. Leading us. Herding us.
"This place isn't guiding us," I whispered. "It's directing us."
"Same thing," Ronan muttered, pulling me close beside him instead of ahead or behind. "But the intent changes."
We moved quickly, but not recklessly. His steps were silent, too controlled for such a large body, each one calculated for balance and readiness. I kept pace, my breath loud in my own ears but somehow not loud enough to drown out the pulse under the metal floor.
A pulse that matched nothing human.
"Ronan," I whispered, "what if the symbol it drew wasn't a threat? What if it was a message?"
He didn't answer immediately. He was listening again, tracking vibrations humans couldn't register. The air carried something sharp now — a sterile scent, chemical but almost… sweet.
Finally, he spoke. "Messages don't usually slam themselves against you. Threats do."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the lights overhead flickered once — violently — then stabilized.
Ronan stopped.
Not froze.
Stopped.
Observation 50: His stillness is language. A warning. A translation. A barrier.
"What do you sense?" I whispered.
He didn't look at me. "Movement. Not behind us this time."
Ahead.
Where the lights glowed stronger.
Where the corridor bent into a corner that felt far too deliberate.
We approached slowly. Every step made the pulse beneath the floor shift, growing sharper, clearer. As if matching our pace. Or anticipating it.
When we reached the corner, Ronan raised his arm slightly—not blocking, not stopping—just creating a shielded arc of space that my body instinctively moved into.
The hallway ahead was different.
It was alive.
Not literally. Not with flesh. But with memory.
The walls were lined with panels of matte, dark material, faintly reflective. Not mirrors — but more like screens that recorded only shadows. The air felt warmer here. Closer. My breath fogged slightly, though the temperature hadn't dropped.
Ronan tested the air again. "This is wrong."
"It feels… watched."
"It is." His hand slipped from mine, only to rest on my waist, guiding me behind him without fully pulling me away. "Everything in this place watches."
A panel clicked softly.
Just one.
Then—
A ripple.
Images flickered across the walls, fast, disjointed.
Not images.
Shadows.
Bodies moving.
Silhouettes of people walking, running, collapsing.
And one silhouette —
A woman with my posture.
My hair.
My outline.
I felt my stomach twist.
"Ronan…" My voice cracked.
His arm tightened around me.
Observation 51: When Ronan senses my fear, he doesn't soothe. He anchors.
"It's not you," he murmured. "This is a projection. Records."
"But why—"
"Because they wanted to understand you," he growled softly. "Before they came for you."
My blood turned hot and cold at once.
As the shadows played, a voice crackled through the overhead intercom — but fragmented, as if the speaker spoke from underwater.
"…containment… breach… unknown… asset…"
Asset.
Not person.
Not threat.
Asset.
Another shape appeared in the hallway projection. Taller. Broader. Shoulders too wide to be human. Head tilted in a way I recognized instantly.
A beastman silhouette.
My breath hitched.
Ronan's did too — but not from shock.
From recognition.
"That won't be me," he growled softly. "But it is one of my kind."
A voice — a deeper one — echoed faintly behind the projection:
"She will lead him."
Ronan stiffened.
"She?" I whispered.
"Don't," he murmured, jaw tightening. "Don't assume it means you."
But his voice trembled in a tiny, betraying way.
The projection continued, glitching. The beastman silhouette turned its head sharply, as if sensing something outside the frame.
Then—the projection cut out.
Dark.
Silent.
Then the corridor ahead pulsed once — a soft, slow heartbeat.
Ronan inhaled sharply.
"That wasn't a recording," he whispered.
I blinked. "What?"
"That was a prediction."
A chill exploded through me.
"You mean—"
"Yes." His hand slid down my arm until our fingers interlaced again. "This place calculated possibilities. Futures. Desired outcomes."
"And I… was part of them."
He turned to me, and the look on his face was something I hadn't seen before. Fear.
Not of the creature.
Not of the facility.
Of what it wanted from me.
"Elena," he murmured, voice rough, "they were studying your mind's patterns. Your choices. Your reactions. That symbol wasn't random."
He pointed ahead.
The corridor's far wall began to glow.
A shape formed.
A symbol.
My symbol.
The same one the creature drew.
This time, it didn't fade.
It pulsed like a heartbeat.
I felt the vibration deep in my ribs.
Observation 52: Ronan identifies danger by how it speaks to instinct, not intellect.
And this symbol? It made every instinct inside him recoil.
The lights shifted again. The siren fell silent. The pulse under the floor synchronized with the symbol's glow. The entire facility seemed to breathe in — waiting.
"Elena." Ronan's hand found the small of my back. "We're moving. Now."
We started forward, but the moment we did, the symbol brightened — then split into three identical markings across the walls.
A pathway.
Not forward.Not left.Not right.
But all three.
"Which way?" I whispered.
Ronan closed his eyes for a brief moment—listening, scenting, thinking.
Then—
"This one." He tugged me right.
The hallway narrowed the farther we walked. The ceiling dropped lower. The hum grew louder. I could feel something beneath us, breathing in slow, heavy rhythms.
Like a creature sleeping under the foundation.
Ronan paused, placing his hand on the wall.
Warm.
Too warm.
"Elena." His voice dropped to the softest whisper. "This part of the facility wasn't built. It grew."
My skin prickled.
Before I could respond, the wall ahead blinked.
Yes — blinked — like an eyelid, then slit open vertically.
Ronan pushed me behind him just as a cloud of cold, shimmering mist spilled into the hallway.
A figure stepped out.
Not monstrous.
Not twisted.
Human.
A woman.
Her eyes were too bright, reflecting the dim light like an animal's. She smiled when she saw me.
Not at Ronan.
At me.
"Well," she murmured, "you got here faster than they predicted."
Ronan snarled instantly — a sound that made her smirk widen.
Observation 53: Ronan's body moves between me and others even before his mind decides to.
The woman raised both hands, palms outward. Not in surrender. In demonstration.
"I'm unarmed."
"That doesn't mean harmless," Ronan growled.
"Oh, I'm far from harmless," she said calmly. "But I'm not your enemy."
She stepped closer—and Ronan stepped forward, blocking every inch of her gaze from reaching me.
"Speak," he warned.
"Fine." Her eyes flicked over his shoulder toward me. "Elena, you need to listen carefully. You were chosen—"
Ronan lunged.
Not fully — but enough to slam her back into the living wall and press his forearm against her throat.
Her breath hitched, but she didn't panic. She smiled.
"You're proving the prediction right," she rasped.
Ronan pressed harder.
"Explain," he snarled.
She looked directly at me, ignoring the immense force restraining her.
"Elena… the creatures aren't trying to kill you."
My pulse stuttered.
"They're trying to return you."
Ronan's entire body tensed, breath shuddering through clenched teeth.
"Return her to what?" he growled.
The woman smirked.
"Oh, beastman… not what."
Her gaze pierced into me.
"Who."
The hallway went silent.
No sirens.No pulse.No hum.
Ronan's forearm trembled against her throat from pure, ice-edged fury.
Observation 54: When Ronan hears something that threatens the foundation of who I am, his entire body prepares for war.
"Explain," he repeated.
The woman smiled softly — too softly.
"Elena doesn't belong to this world."
Ronan's snarl became a roar.
He slammed her against the wall so hard the entire corridor shook.
"Try again," he hissed through sharp teeth.
She coughed, eyes half-closing with pain—but still smiling.
"You can kill me if you want. It won't change the truth."
She lifted a trembling finger.
Pointed at me.
"Elena was made."
My breath collapsed.
Ronan froze.
"No," he said, voice low and lethal. "You're lying."
"Am I?" She tilted her head. "Ask her why the symbol obeys her. Ask her why the creatures dissolve instead of dying. Ask why this facility woke up the moment she entered."
Ronan's body vibrated with a growl I felt more than heard.
"Elena," he said without looking back at me. "Do not listen to her."
"She has to," the woman whispered. "Because they're coming for her. All of them. And when they reach her—"
She leaned forward as far as Ronan's hold allowed.
"—your beastman won't be enough to stop them."
Ronan's clawed hand closed around her throat.
Not squeezing.
Claiming.
Warning.
Protecting.
I stepped forward despite his snarl of protest.
"Ronan," I whispered. "Let her speak."
His chest rose and fell hard, once, twice. His jaw tightened. His claws retracted with a sickening slowness.
He released her.
Barely.
The woman exhaled shakily, rubbing her throat.
"Thank you," she whispered to me. Then she glanced at Ronan. "You are strong, beastman. But you do not understand what she is bound to."
Ronan growled again, but softer this time — a warning, not an attack.
"What am I?" My voice broke. "If I wasn't supposed to be here—who was I supposed to be?"
The woman's expression softened — genuinely, painfully.
"That," she whispered, "is what they're all coming to reclaim."
The floor under us rumbled.
The lights flickered.
A screech echoed through the hallway — not one creature.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Ronan moved instantly, pulling me so tight against his chest I felt the tremor of his heartbeat.
"We're leaving," he snarled.
The woman stepped aside.
"Go," she said calmly. "But Elena… they will not stop. Not until you remember."
The rumbling grew louder.
Closer.
Ronan lifted me slightly, preparing to run.
"Elena," he whispered fiercely into my hair, "I won't let them take you. Not now. Not ever."
Observation 55: When he vows something, the world itself seems to bow before his promise.
The corridor ahead burst open—
And the hunt began.