Chapter 31 Kit #2
He turned to a younger woman hovering near the equipment—owl-eyed, almost nervous. A trainee learning the trade? “We’ll be using a local anaesthetic only,” he said conversationally. “The patient needs to be conscious for neural pathway mapping.”
The words punched themselves into me, stole my breath.
They were keeping me awake whilst they cut into my brain.
“You can’t be serious.” The panic I’d been holding back cracked through my voice.
The doctor glanced at me with mild irritation. I’d interrupted his important lecture.
“The procedure requires active brain responses to ensure proper calibration of the neural interface,” he explained to the trainee—or possibly me.
My breathing quickened. This was worse than anything I’d imagined. Even in my darkest moments planning potential suicide, I hadn’t conceived of being conscious whilst they rewired my brain.
“But I wasn’t awake last time!” My words came out strangled. “I don’t even remember the other chip being put in!”
The surgeon’s expression shifted to outright annoyance. “That was simply a basic prototype model.”
He nodded to the trainee, who approached with a syringe. The needle bit into my scalp—multiple sharp pricks as she injected the local anaesthetic in a grid pattern across the back of my head. The liquid burned going in, then gradually the area began to go numb.
Movement caught my peripheral vision. Isla, wide-eyed and face chalk-white, crept into the room, sliding along the wall towards the corner.
“Isla.” My voice came out as an urgent whisper. “Come here.”
She hesitated, glancing at the medical staff who were busy with prep work. The surgeon was explaining something about neural mapping to his trainee, gesturing at brain scans displayed on a monitor. My brain scans.
Isla took a step closer. Then another.
I whispered rapidly, the words tumbling over each other. “Listen. I need you to get a message to London. To Rory. Tell him what happened to me.”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t expected this—a dying man’s last request.
“Please. I can’t have them thinking I abandoned them.” The silver restraints pressed against my wrists as I tried to lean towards her. “Just this one thing, Isla. Do this for me, at least. They deserve to know. And… listen… can you tell Rory to tell Felix—”
The theatre doors slammed open.
Moira strode in carrying a small metal case, her presence filling the room like poisonous gas. Her eyes found Isla immediately, expression darkening into something murderous.
“What are you doing here, Isla? I thought you were upstairs. You’re not scheduled to be here. These procedures are closed rooms.”
Isla jumped like she’d been electrocuted. “I was just… observing.”
“Get out. Now.” Moira’s voice could have cut glass.
Isla fled without looking back, the door swinging shut behind her with an air of finality. My heart sank. There was no way she’d contact Rory. She was just a scared girl, in way over her head, too terrified of her mother to risk defiance.
Moira approached the table, her boots clacking against the sterile floor. She opened the metal case with deliberate ceremony, revealing its contents to the surgeon.
I craned my neck, desperate to see what they were about to put inside my head, but the restraints held firm. The head brace kept me staring straight up into those merciless lights whilst Moira handed the chip to the surgeon like she was passing him a scalpel.
Moira turned to me, and I braced myself for whatever psychological torture she had planned.
“The Thornes have always been a stubborn lot,” she said, as if we were discussing the weather over tea.
“I learned that quickly enough after marrying Alex.” Her eyes flicked towards the corner where my father stood motionless.
“Malcolm was the worst of the bunch, of course. But you, Kit, never were much like him.”
She tilted her head, lost in some memory I had no desire to share.
“I always knew you weren’t cut out to be alpha. And I mean that as a compliment, truly. Your heart was always too soft. Like a bruised peach—sweet underneath, but too easily damaged. No matter how much strength Malcolm tried to instil in you.”
“What’s the point of this?” I spat, unable to control myself any longer.
She was trying to drag me back to being that lost, guilty boy who’d failed to protect his brother. But I wasn’t him anymore. I wasn’t that broken kid anymore. I’d found my real pack. I’d found myself.
I met her eyes steadily. “I know who I am. That won’t change. No matter what you do to me.”
She stepped back, nodding to the surgeon.
I closed my eyes.
Think of Felix.
I forced myself to remember that last night we'd spent together.
The way his eyes had lit up when we'd spent an hour discussing Game of Thrones, debating the tactical failures at the Battle of the Blackwater.
Eventually, I couldn't focus on his words because all I could think about was kissing him senseless.
His mouth had fallen open when I'd pressed him back against the pillows.
Think of Rory.
Rory’s maniacal cackle as Freddy had performed an elaborate heist to steal an entire roast chicken from the kitchen counter, scampering across the ceiling with his prize whilst Rory applauded like he was watching Shakespeare.
Hold on to that. Whatever they do to you, hold on to them. They’re yours. All yours. They can’t take them away from you if you don’t let them.
The first cut sent warm blood trickling down my neck.