Chapter 31 Kit
Kit
Time had become meaningless in the cell. Hours? A day? The silver-lined walls didn’t care about my confusion, and neither did the guards who eventually returned.
“On your feet,” the older one barked. “Pre-operative assessment.”
The younger guard—the cocky little shit I’d taken down during my escape attempt—sported a magnificent purple bruise across his left cheek. He kept his distance this time, rifle trained on me whilst his partner unlocked my restraints, before handing me a hospital gown.
“It’s this or naked. Your choice.”
I stood and changed without resistance. What was the point? Save energy for what mattered.
They marched me down another sterile corridor, past doors that could have led anywhere—or nowhere. The facility felt endless, a maze of white walls and fluorescent lights that hummed with barely contained menace.
The medical room was small. Examination table. Sink. Cabinet full of instruments. I sat where they pointed and let myself drift away from my body whilst someone in scrubs—a woman with tired eyes but steady hands—took my blood pressure, drew samples, checked my reflexes.
The guards flanked the door. The woman worked in silence.
I stared at the ceiling and purposefully thought about Felix.
About the way his hair fell into his eyes when he was concentrating.
The sound he made when he laughed—really laughed, not the nervous half smile he gave strangers.
The blissed-out look on his face when he ate something particularly sweet.
How adorably awkward he’d been when he’d given me his hoodie.
The nurse left without a word, her footsteps echoing down the corridor until silence swallowed them whole.
I sat alone on the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath me with every small movement. My legs dangled like a child’s, bare feet not quite reaching the floor. The hospital gown gaped at the back, letting the recycled air prick at my skin.
Minutes crawled past.
Then the door opened again.
I had to blink several times to process the young woman who walked in. Bright ginger hair, shoulder-length and unmistakable.
“Isla!”
Twenty years old now, but I hadn’t seen her since she was a girl.
The years had left her thinner than I remembered, paler.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and she moved strangely—too careful, like she was afraid of making sudden movements.
What had Moira been doing with her since May?
Before she’d fled Scotland, she’d been studying medicine in Edinburgh.
Was Moira putting those skills to use here?
She’d already had Isla running their Highland base, nearly orchestrating the capture of a shit tonne of wolves before Rory and Theo stopped her.
Isla’s gaze darted to me, then away. She was dressed in civilian clothes—jeans and a jumper, and something was off about the way she carried herself.
“Rory has been so worried. And your dad has been going mad trying to find you. Are you okay, Isla?”
Isla’s voice snapped out loud and defensive. “Of course I’m okay.”
I suppressed a groan. Rory had said Isla seemed conflicted in Scotland, torn between loyalty to her mother and her own moral compass. But it seemed as if her mother had her claws in her tightly now.
But fuck it, it was worth a try.
“Listen, Isla,” I said urgently. “Rory thinks you don’t truly want to be here.”
Isla’s expression grew distant. “This is my life now. Greywatch is doing important work.” Her words were hollow, rehearsed.
“What Rory said back then is still true. We will help you, Isla.”
Sudden tears sprang from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. “You can’t help me.” She shook her head. “Nobody can.”
“Isla—”
“They’re relocating you from this base as soon as your chip is in,” she said in a rush.
“Deploying you. They’ve already got a unit in mind for you, and they need you straight away.
It’s been arranged for days. Ma knew there was no way she’d persuade you to work with her.
But… you’ve still got a bit of time. You need to quickly convince Ma to trust you enough to let you work with her. ”
I shook my head. “I can’t work with her, Isla.”
“Even with the alternative?”
I didn’t know what to say. My choice was to become a monster, or help create monsters. So I simply shook my head.
“Kit, you need to convince her you’re on our side. It would be easier for everyone.”
I studied her face—really looked at her. Saw the fear beneath her composure, the way her hands trembled slightly at her sides.
“Is that what you really think, Isla?”
My voice came out quiet, not accusatory. She flinched anyway.
“Or would that just be easiest for you?”
She shook her head, and her ginger hair caught the fluorescent light.
The same hair that used to fly behind her as she ran away from Rory when they were kids—both of them shrieking with laughter as they shifted mid-run, tumbling over each other in a tangle of human limbs and wolf paws whilst the adults rolled their eyes.
“It really doesn’t matter what I think.” Her voice was small, defeated. “Not at this point.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked. “In Switzerland?”
Emerald-green eyes narrowed at me. “For a short while. We travel between sites all the time.”
“Don’t you want a normal life? What happened to university? All your friends there? Don’t they miss you?”
Isla turned away and visibly swallowed.
“None of that matters,” she whispered.
“Of course it does. You deserve a life, Isla.” The words hung between us. “I know how this feels—being recruited when you’re young and desperate. When someone offers you exactly what you think you need.”
Her shoulders tensed but she didn’t turn around.
“I was drifting for months when Moira first approached me for Greywatch. Battling this endless ache, knowing I’d never be happy staying in the Highlands.
She made it sound like salvation. Purpose.
” My throat tightened. “But GREY stole years from me, Isla. Turned me into something I never wanted to be. Broke me down and built me back up as a weapon.”
A small sound escaped her throat. Almost a sob.
“And I get it. Finding out your ma wasn’t actually dead—that must have felt like a miracle.
When she said she needed you, I understand why you’d go running.
But this is wrong, Isla. I know you know that.
” I leaned forward as much as I could. “Sometimes our parents turn out to be monsters. Trust me. I know.”
She whirled around, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “I’m sorry, Kit,” she said.
Then she fled. Wordlessly, without looking back at me, she slipped past the doctor and vanished into the corridor.
Alone, again.
I stared at the silver restraints around my wrists, tested them half-heartedly. The metal burned against my skin but held firm. Around me, the medical equipment hummed with quiet efficiency.
A dark thought crept in, unbidden: Would it be better to end this now? While I still have a choice?
I catalogued the room’s contents. Scalpels in that cabinet. Probably locked, but the glass would break easily enough. Or the IV stand—heavy enough to do damage if I could get the restraints off. If I became too much of a liability, they’d have to shoot me.
No.
If I was going to die, it wouldn’t be without a fight. And maybe… maybe there was still a chance. Maybe the chip wouldn’t work. Maybe Isla—
The door opened. Theatre scrubs this time, wheeling a gurney.
“Time to go.”
I stood up.
The corridors blurred past—endless white walls punctuated by doors I’d never see again, if Isla’s information about them transferring me was to be believed. The guards flanked me, their boots echoing against polished floors that reeked of disinfectant and despair.
The operating theatre doors loomed ahead. Heavy steel with reinforced glass windows, the kind designed to contain more than just sound.
They swung open with a pneumatic hiss. Surgical lights blazed overhead, casting everything in stark, merciless white. Monitors lined the walls, screens dark but ready. The smell of antiseptic burned my nostrils, but underneath lurked something sharper—the metallic tang of silver.
The operating table dominated the centre. Not just any table. This one was built for wolves. A Greywatch specialty. A silver restraint system, arms and legs secured separately, head brace designed to immobilise completely.
And there, motionless in the corner like a robot waiting for orders, stood my father.
He didn’t acknowledge me. Didn’t even look in my direction. Just another piece of equipment in the room.
“On the table.”
I didn’t struggle. What was the point? The guards unlocked my current restraints, and I climbed onto the cold metal surface, lying back whilst they secured me properly this time.
Silver restraints clicked into place around my wrists, ankles, across my chest. The head brace locked my skull in position, leaving me staring directly into those blazing lights. My wolf whimpered somewhere deep inside.
Cold hands tilted my head forward, exposing the base of my skull. Then the buzz of clippers shaving a section of hair away. Preparing the canvas.
Machines beeped around me, monitoring vital signs I couldn’t control. Heart rate climbing. Blood pressure spiking. The body’s honest response to impending violation.
Someone entered—tall, grey-haired. The surgeon? He certainly moved with the sort of authority that came from years of cutting into unwilling subjects.
“I was told my existing chip was too embedded to remove safely,” I said, watching his face for any reaction. “Are you replacing it or leaving both in there? What exactly are you putting in my head?” My voice rose slightly. “I surely have a right to know.”
His gaze only skirted past me. He might as well have been examining a corpse for all the humanity he afforded me. He didn’t see me as human enough to deserve answers. I was just another asset to be upgraded, modified, optimised for their purposes.