CHAPTER 5

"Now, if you want to keep the air flowing through your lungs, you have to be quiet…"

Corvin's calm voice echoed as he walked back to Ren's bedside, his steps deliberate, almost casual, as though he were strolling through a garden and not standing over a bleeding man on the edge of death.

"I'll keep you hidden, treated, fed. All you need to do is allow me free access to your body—"

Ren blinked, his lips parting. His throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper scraping against itself. "My body?" he asked hoarsely, wincing as the throbbing in his skull punished him for even speaking.

"Yes," Corvin said matter-of-factly, his tone flat as steel. "Your blood. Your skin. Your hair. Anything I'll need for my experiment. You're an exceptional case, Renault—the only unaffected human in a world where everyone else rots or mutates. I'd be a fool to let you die." His eyes scanned Ren's broken, helpless body with the intensity of a vulture circling a carcass.

Ren's breathing grew heavy, ragged. His heart pounded but not with hope—only dread. Death or this? To be a corpse in the sand, gone quickly, or to live as a rat in Corvin's cage?

Death was better. A clean end was better.

But Corvin had chosen for him. He was alive, against his will, because someone else wanted him alive. He had never had free will, not truly. Even at Base7, where survival was nothing but filth and starvation, he'd had scraps of freedom. Now? He was a specimen. A prisoner in a polished white box.

"Now," Corvin said evenly, "do not make any sound. This infirmary is entered only by a few trusted people. I'll let you rest. Later, I'll return with food. Try escaping at your own risk."

And with that, he walked away, leaving Ren alone again—alone with racing thoughts, throbbing wounds, and a gnawing fear of what tomorrow might bring.

The silence hadn't lasted a full minute before footsteps returned. Too soon. Ren's mind braced for Corvin again, perhaps with new demands, new twisted terms.

But then a different voice cut through the air, sharp, condescending, poisonous.

"Ren Caspian. You have failed your commander."

Ren's blood ran hot with anger the moment he heard that voice.

"Cypher…" He forced his head to the side, glaring as much as his aching muscles would allow. His voice came out rough, broken. "I came here for you." He coughed hard, his chest rattling.

"You're a fool." Cypher's boots clicked against the floor as he approached, his face twisted with disdain. "And so is your commander, sending you here like a sacrificial lamb. What was he expecting? He didn't even bother to tell me about his change of plans." Cypher stopped at Ren's bedside, eyes narrowing, studying him like a problem that had finally solved itself.

"I'm a practical man, Ren. Your commander knows that. I do whatever it takes to survive. And now? I'm taking you straight to the captain. You'd better keep my name out of your mouth—"

Ren's eyes blazed, fury flaring even through the haze of pain. "Fuck you, Cypher." His voice cracked, but the venom still burned. "If you think I'll ever let you walk free after what you've done, you're dead wrong. I'll tell the captain everything. Everything. Let's see how that works out for you."

Cypher smirked, then laughed, a cruel, humorless sound. "You can try, Ren. Let's see who the captain believes. A spy dressed as a woman, caught sneaking into his Faction? Or a loyal soldier who has stood at his side for years?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping, each word sharp as a knife.

Ren barely had time to snarl before Cypher reached for the IV line.

The needle ripped free from Ren's arm with a violent tug.

"Arghhh!" Ren cried out, agony flaring hot as blood welled from the puncture. The adhesive plaster tore hair and skin alike, leaving his arm raw and red. His hand shot instinctively to the wound, pressing hard to slow the trickle.

"W-what are you doing?!" His voice was ragged, breathless.

"Come in here!" Cypher barked toward the doorway, his tone dripping with authority. "Take him to the captain!"

The room flooded with heavy boots. Soldiers stormed in, faceless shadows in Ren's blurred vision.

Rough hands yanked him upright, dragging him out of bed with no care for his wounds. Pain exploded in his stomach, his legs collapsing useless beneath him. He groaned, his body jerking like a puppet's.

The infusion had been the only thing sustaining him. Two days unconscious, plus a day of trudging through the desert without food or water—three days without nourishment. Now, stripped of that lifeline, hunger and weakness crashed over him in waves. His vision hazed, the world tilting, but the soldiers dragged him mercilessly onward.

They hauled him down pristine corridors, past sterile lights that mocked his suffering. Faces turned toward him, every gaze dripping with disdain.

"Oh, look. The spy."

"Dead man walking."

"He'll never crawl out alive this time."

Whispers hissed like blades as they passed. Every word stung, every sneer another cut. Ren lowered his gaze, but the shame clung to him like chains.

"Dr. Corvin's finished," someone muttered. "He should never have—" The words cut off as Ren was shoved into an elevator.

"Ouch!" he gasped, crumpling against the cold metal floor. His gunshot wound pulsed, hot and unforgiving, blood soaking sluggishly through his tunic.

"Don't die yet, Ren." Cypher's voice dripped with malice. "The captain needs to see you alive. Needs to see Corvin's betrayal with his own eyes."

The soldiers chuckled darkly, and the elevator rumbled downward.

Ren's heart hammered, a frantic drumbeat. Sweat slicked his skin, cold and clammy. His breaths came sharp, shallow.

No, no, no. I can't see him again. Not him. I'll die this time. I'll really die.

Corvin couldn't save him again. He wouldn't even try. Ren knew too well—once branded a traitor, Corvin would be clinging to his own neck, not Ren's.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

A chill crept inside instantly, seeping into Ren's bones. The corridor beyond was dim, sterile, yet oppressive. The very air felt heavier, colder, tainted with dread.

Ren's body was dragged out, limp, bones aching as his knees scraped the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to be calm, but terror pressed down like a vice.

Silver eyes flashed in his memory—dark, inhuman, merciless.

The beast.

Badum. Badum. Badum.

His pulse thundered as the soldiers stopped before a looming opaque door.

"Captain," Cypher muttered into a comm device. "I've brought the hostage."

The door loomed ahead, its glass milky and distorted, reflecting Ren's broken figure back at him. He could see shifting shadows behind it, movement too blurred to identify. His breath hitched. He knew what waited.

That door wasn't just a barrier—it was a guillotine. Behind it lay Axton Conan.

The devil himself.

The monster who had shot him without hesitation, whose silver eyes haunted his every nightmare.

The door clicked. A voice spoke from the other side.

"Only one may follow him in."

"I'll take him." Cypher wasted no time, jerking Ren's arm—right where the IV had been ripped free.

Ren hissed in pain, groaning as blood welled fresh.

"Proceed. Five minutes only," the guard said flatly.

Ren's body was dragged across the threshold. Cold hit him first. Then the aura hit harder—heavy, suffocating, pressing down like a mountain.

And Ren knew before he even saw him.

Axton Conan was inside.

Waiting.