Chapter 12 The Shepherd
Cold wood against my throat. Pressure. Can’t breathe. Can’t—
Faces twisted with rage, mouths open, screaming. Rain-slick stones beneath my knees. The smell of old blood, thick and metallic, coated the back of my throat.
Hands gripping my arms. Too many hands. Restraining. Forcing me down.
A smile like a knife. Eyes the color of winter ice. Watching me. Always watching.
Betrayal burned hotter than terror. I believed. I fought for this. How did—
The blade. Silver and waiting. A basket below. The whoosh of—
“Melanie! Mel—wake up!”
Hands on my shoulders, shaking me. I gasped, thrashing against the grip, my own hands flying to my throat where the phantom pressure of wood still pressed against my windpipe. My sheets were tangled around my legs, damp with sweat.
“Hey, hey—you’re okay. You’re here. You’re safe.”
Luz’s face swam into focus above me, her dark eyes wide with concern. Morning light filtered through the blinds, soft and golden, nothing like the gray dawn of the Place de la Révolution that still lingered at the edges of my vision.
I was shaking. My whole body trembled as I gulped air, trying to convince my lungs they could actually expand, that there was no blade falling, no crowd baying for blood.
“Mierda, Mel,” Luz sat on the edge of my bed, one hand still on my shoulder, grounding me. “I’ve been trying to wake you for like two minutes. You okay, amiga?”
I flushed and brushed damp hair from my forehead. “I’m fine.”
“Mel.” She gave me an exasperated look. “That’s the fourth time this week. Maybe talking about the dreams will help?”
My throat tightened, tears burning my eyes. “I don’t want to.”
She studied me for a long moment, then sighed.
“Okay,” she said, hugging me close. “But I’m here when you’re ready. You know that, right?”
I nodded, leaning into her arms.
“Come on,” she said, pulling me to my feet. “We’re meeting Amy for breakfast. Maybe if we get some food in her, she’ll look less like a reanimated corpse.”
I managed a weak smile. “That’s the plan?”
“That’s the plan. Chai, carbs, and good vibes.” She squeezed my hand. “And if she tries to blow us off again, I’m staging a full-on intervention.”
By the time we reached the food court, it was buzzing with students. The smell of coffee, toasted bagels, and fried eggs thickened the air. We grabbed our trays and found a table near the windows.
I was pouring honey into my chai when Amy appeared.
Her hair was mussed like she hadn’t bothered brushing it in days. Her skin had taken on a gray-pale quality that made her look almost translucent under the fluorescent lights. Her sweater hung loose on her frame like she’d lost weight.
“Morning,” Luz said carefully, like she was approaching a wounded animal.
Amy grunted. “Mm-hmm.”
She reached for her matcha latte with trembling hands. She took the smallest sip, then set it down like even that small effort had exhausted her.
Her plate held a muffin and some fruit. She picked at the muffin, breaking off tiny pieces but not eating them.
“Rough night?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” Amy grumbled in frustration. Luz and I exchanged worried glances.
Amy was always patient and thoughtful, the one who mediated when Luz and I got into it. Hearing that edge in her voice was like watching a door slam in your face when you expected it to open.
She must have seen our expressions because she pressed her hands to her face. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I just…” She trailed off, looking lost. “I’ll be okay. I just need to manage the fatigue better.”
“How many more sessions do you have?” I asked.
She blinked, processing the question. “Um. Four weeks? I think? They said eight weeks total, so…”
Luz leaned in. “Amy, this study is hurting you!”
“I can’t quit.” Amy’s voice was flat. “If I miss sessions, I forfeit the payment and…” She hesitated. “There are penalties.”
“What kind of penalties?” I asked, alarm bells ringing in my head.
Amy shook her head, her eyes distant. “Just… penalties. Legal stuff. I didn’t read all the fine print.” She pushed her tray away, muffin untouched, matcha barely sipped. “I have to go. My appointment’s in twenty minutes.”
“Amy—” Luz started, but Amy was already standing, swaying on her feet.
“Just leave it alone, please?” She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll see you later.”
We watched her go, her movements careful like her body hurt. I tapped my fingers against the table, thoughts spinning as she disappeared out the door.
“I’m going to spend today digging,” I said, already planning my research strategy. “Maybe I’ll call Leo? He might be able to help. There has to be something—some connection, some record, something that explains what they’re actually doing.”
“Good idea.” Luz’s expression darkened. “I’ll talk to other participants. Try to get a sense of how widespread this is.”
“Meet back up later?”
“Sounds like a plan.” She stood, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. “Just be careful, okay? You’ve been a magnet for bullshit lately.”
Xavier’s face flashed through my mind. The memory of his hands on my wrists made me shiver.
“You’re telling me,” I muttered.
Luz grinned mischievously. “At least Professor Tall, Dark and Broody keeps showing up to save you.”
Heat flooded my face. “I’m leaving now!”
Her laugh followed me out. “Love you, hermana!”
I dropped into my desk chair and flipped open my laptop. The flyer sat beside my keyboard, its cheerful promises mocking me. Optimal Vitality through Ancient Wisdom. Right.
I pulled up a browser and started searching: Ekklesia Biotech clinical trials. Ekklesia Biotech founders. Ekklesia Biotech FDA approval.
The results were sparse and frustratingly vague.
A handful of wellness blogs mentioned “cutting-edge research” in glowing terms that sounded like they’d been written by the same marketing team.
No specifics, no actual science. The company website was heavy with stock photos of diverse people in lab coats, and buzzwords like holistic integration and biometric optimization.
But there was no staff directory, no founder bios—not even a physical address beyond a PO Box in Delaware.
I tried searching for news coverage. One press release from six months ago announced their “groundbreaking partnership with select universities.” No details, no follow-up coverage.
I sat back, frustration coiling tight in my chest. It was like the company was just polished enough to look legitimate, but hollow underneath.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up Leo’s contact.
He answered on the second ring. “Mel? What’s up?”
“I need your help,” I said without preamble. “I’m trying to research this company Amy’s involved with, Ekklesia Biotech, and I’m hitting nothing but dead ends. It’s like they don’t exist outside of a flashy website.”
“Sketchy,” Leo said. “What’ve you found so far?”
“Barely anything. No staff names, no real address, no regulatory filings I can find. Just marketing copy and stock photos. It feels fake.”
There was a pause. Then: “I’m coming over. Give me ten minutes.”
“Leo, you don’t have to—”
He hung up before I could argue.
True to his word, Leo knocked on my door nine minutes later, backpack slung over one shoulder. He dropped into Luz’s chair and pulled out his own laptop.
I showed him the website, the sparse search results, and the vague press release. He scrolled through it all with a deepening frown.
“Yeah, that’s a shell,” he muttered. “I’ve got a friend who can dig through corporate registrations, see if they’re hiding under a parent company or using subsidiaries.
” He pulled up a notes app and started typing.
“I’ll also check clinical trial registrations.
If they’re running studies and haven’t registered them, that’s a major red flag. ”
My stomach twisted. “How long will that take?”
“I’ll start tonight. Text you if I find anything.” He stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “In the meantime, keep looking. Check random forums, archived news sites. University announcements, too; if they partnered with schools, there might be internal memos floating around.”
“Got it.” I walked him to the door. “Thanks, Leo.”
He waved me off. “This is sketchy as hell. We’ll figure it out.”
After he left, I returned to my laptop, typing: “Ekklesia Biotech university partnership.”
There wasn’t much, but I did find a thread on a university subreddit. About a month ago, a student asked if anyone else had been contacted about a “voluntary health study” with “generous compensation.” The replies corroborated what Amy had described.
I bookmarked it and kept searching.
Hours had passed before Luz burst through the door, dropping her bag on her desk with a thud.
“Mel!” Her eyes were bright with the energy of someone who’d found something important. “I’ve got news.”
I straightened at my desk. “Tell me.”
She dropped into the chair beside me, pulling out her phone. “Talked to three participants today. Two of them clammed up the second I mentioned the study, like they’d been coached not to talk about it. But the third…”
She showed me a photo of a girl I vaguely recognized from our floor. In the photo, she looked hollow-eyed and gaunt.
“She had a panic attack during her last session,” Luz continued.
“Started hyperventilating, and they just… watched. Recorded her response instead of helping.” Her expression darkened.
“Then afterward, they made her sign an additional NDA. Threatened to sue her for breach of contract if she talked about what happened in the sessions.”
“Shit,” I breathed. “Can they even do that?”
“If she signed it, probably. But Mel, she was terrified. She kept saying, ‘I can’t leave’ over and over.”
A pit formed in my stomach. It was just like Amy, another student reading from a script.
“I’ve got Leo looking into it,” I explained. “You know he’s good at finding stuff. But I haven’t heard from him yet.”
Luz nodded and wilted somewhat. We sat in heavy silence, the weight of that realization settling over us.
Finally, Luz spoke. “So what do we do?”