CHAPTER 4

"Uhh..." A faint groan slipped into the quiet room, swallowed almost instantly by silence.

The only sound was the periodic drip, drip, drip—so soft it might be missed if one didn't listen carefully.

"Ahh..." A weak sigh followed, barely audible, piercing the stillness.

Ren stirred, his body aching as though mauled by a speeding train. Every bone felt brittle, every muscle screaming at the slightest movement.

I'm… alive? His fogged mind snapped awake, processing his state in a rush of disbelief.

His eyes fluttered open, the world swimming in a haze of grey. The ceiling, a blank expanse of white concrete, seemed to tilt and sway. The air was heavy with the sharp tang of disinfectant.

He tried to move, digging an elbow into the semi-hard surface beneath him, but a jolt of pain ripped through his body, seizing sinew and bone. He fell back with a strangled gasp, chest heaving.

His heart hammered like a trapped bird, a knot of fear tightening in his gut.

Slowly, he turned his head. He was in a clinic. A real clinic. Pristine white, with beds neatly dressed, lights harshly bright. Not like Base7's sorry excuse of an infirmary—their endless stench of piss and blood was absent here.

The drip, drip, drip echoed, and the discomfort prickling in his arm told him he was hooked to an infusion.

"Ugh," he groaned as a sharp ache pulsed at the back of his skull—a reminder of brutal impact. His mind replayed the last thing he remembered: a blinding light, a gunshot, then nothing.

Pain bloomed everywhere now—his shoulder throbbed, his stomach pulsed with a heavy tugging ache. His nerves screamed, raw and unrelenting.

Axton had shot him. Right in the lower abdomen.

"Bastard—uhh!" Even speaking was punishment.

Ren's gaze swept the room. Alone. Lost in a sea of pain and confusion. His hand trembled as it reached for his head. His fingers brushed a swollen lump, sticky with blood. He didn't even remember getting that wound—it must have happened in the chaos.

He needed to escape. But his body was useless, trembling, drained. He wouldn't make it two steps before crumpling like a rag.

The silence pressed in—broken only by dripping fluid and his ragged breaths.

Then, footsteps.

Every muscle froze.

They were unhurried, deliberate, each one echoing too loud in the sterile stillness. Closer. Closer. Ren's breath hitched.

He squeezed his eyes shut, feigning sleep, though his racing heart betrayed him. His pain sharpened, nerves raw from terror.

A shadow fell across him. The presence loomed at his side, gaze heavy, suffocating. The air itself seemed to thicken, stretched taut like it might snap.

Ren waited, every nerve screaming.

A hand moved—not to strike, but to adjust the infusion bag. Fabric rustled. A clasp clicked. Then a low, measured voice broke the silence.

"I know you're awake."

Ren's eyes snapped open. A stranger stood over him. Tall, broad-shouldered. Short dark hair framed an impassive face, and piercing blue eyes studied him with unnerving intensity. His plain grey tunic and trousers only sharpened the sterile contrast of the room.

"Who… who are you?" Ren's voice was a dry croak.

The man didn't answer right away. He watched Ren, gaze cool, cataloguing his fear and tension.

Finally, he spoke. "You're in the infirmary. You've been unconscious two days." He gestured to the drip. "I'm stabilising you. Until you're fit to meet the captain again."

Ren's heart lurched. Two days?!

Reed's threat echoed back—two days or Mira would be thrown out.

He had failed her. What had become of her now? Had she beastified? Abandoned?

Helplessness clawed at his chest, and the mention of Axton darkened his fear.

Ren tried to sit, only for agony to spear through him. He gasped.

The man's hand rose—not to restrain, but to press a finger against his lips. "Easy. You're still in shock. Rest."

Ren's pulse thundered. An infirmary. Two days gone. Why was he alive? Axton's bullet should've ended him.

"Why?" His whisper rasped, desperate. "Why am I here? Not dead?"

The man's expression never shifted. He adjusted the drip one last time, then turned away.

He took three steps, then paused.

When he faced Ren again, his words were calm, almost clinical. "I'm experimenting on you, Renault. That's why you're alive. Against the captain's orders. If you want to keep living—if you want any chance of leaving—cooperate."

Ren's eyes widened, blood running cold. The name struck him like a whip.

"Dr. Corvin…" he whispered.