Elizabeth
The first thing I felt was cold.
Not just the kind that brushed your skin — but the kind that seeped into your bones, your blood, the kind that made you remember you were no longer safe.
I blinked hard, my vision swimming as flickering light came into focus. Harsh fluorescents. Cement walls. Metal table.
Restraints.
My arms were strapped down at the wrists with surgical leather. My ankles too. I was still in my gown — soaked through, sticking to me like a second skin. My mask was gone, my hair matted to my cheek.
I could barely lift my head before I heard it — the soft, clinical beeping of machines. The clink of metal. The low hum of something familiar. I knew that sound.
A needle.
And then—his voice.
“Ah. You’re awake, sweetheart.”
My blood turned to ice.
He stepped into my view with practiced calm. His gloves were already on, the syringe in his hand filled with my blood.
“Still beautiful, even soaked in rain and heartbreak,” he added mockingly.
“Get away from me,” I spat, my throat dry.
He tilted his head. “Now, now. That’s no way to speak to the man who made you.”
I jerked against the restraints. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to pretend this is love.”
He sighed, almost bored. “Don’t be so dramatic. This is science. Control. Evolution. I gave you power, Elizabeth. I gave you a future. And what did you do with it?”
I glared, breath shaking.
“You wasted it,” he said, circling the table like a vulture. “On him.”
At the mention of Noah, my heart twisted violently.
“You let yourself feel. And for what? A boy who kissed you in a storm? A soldier who looked at you like you were whole?” He leaned in, face inches from mine, eyes sharp. “You don’t get to be whole. You were never meant to be.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
He held up the vial. “You’ve evolved since the last sample. He’s done something to you. I can see it in your blood.”
I stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched. “You won’t touch him.”
But then he said it. Soft. Cruel.
“If you don’t cooperate, I’ll cut that pretty boy’s throat myself.”
My entire body froze.
“He’s already looking,” he went on. “Probably storming some poor, misinformed bunker. But if he gets too close before I get what I need… well, accidents happen.”
I stared at him. Every inch of me trembling.
“Don’t touch him,” I whispered, voice cracking.
“Then do as I say,” he said simply. “No fight. No tricks. And maybe, just maybe, your boy walks away.”
I wanted to scream. Wanted to curse him. Break free. Kill him.
But all I could do… was nod.
Because I couldn’t let Noah die.
Not for me.
Not because I let myself love him.
“Good girl,” my father said with a chilling smile, reaching for another needle. “Let’s begin.”
And all I could do was stare at the ceiling, the tears finally falling.
Because this wasn’t just captivity.
It was surrender.
And the only reason I gave in…
Was him.
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I didn’t know how long I’d been here.
Hours? Days? Time bled together like the bruises on my arms — deep purple and yellow, a roadmap of where he’d pulled blood and pushed me too far.
He said it was training again.
Said I had “softened.” Said I was wasting the gift. But really… it was punishment. Punishment for letting myself love. For letting myself be human.
My skin felt like it didn’t belong to me. My ribs ached from where he’d thrown me to the floor when I hesitated during one of the drills. My veins stung from the needles, over and over, like he was trying to extract whatever part of me had dared to care.
The room he locked me in was clinical. A fake comfort. Plush furniture with no warmth. A bed I hadn’t slept in. Surveillance in every corner. There was nowhere to hide. No one to save me.
And today… I snapped.
My knees hit the floor and I sobbed. Quiet, at first. Because he might be listening. But then louder — until my whole body trembled. I wanted to scream. I wanted to disappear. I wanted Noah.
God, Noah.
Would he even come for me? Did he hate me now? Did he think I was just like my father?
I curled in on myself, head pressed to my arms, the tears hot and endless.
And then—
Gunfire. Close. Loud. Real. I lifted my head, heart hammering. More shots. Yelling. Boots slamming the floor.
Then—
BOOM.
The door exploded open, and in the smoke and splintered wood stood a figure I knew in my bones.
“Noah.”
My voice broke as I said it. Barely a whisper.
His eyes locked on mine. His chest was heaving. His knuckles bloodied. His gun still in hand.
But the second he saw me — bruised, broken, curled up on the floor — his whole face changed.
The fire in him shifted from fury to devastation.
“Sunshine,” he breathed, and the gun dropped from his hand.
Hearing him call me that mended something inside me. I couldn’t move. I was afraid if I stood, I’d fall apart.
So I just sat there, eyes wide, body shaking.
He dropped to his knees in front of me in an instant, reaching for my face with trembling hands.
His thumb brushed beneath my eye, catching a tear.
“Who did this to you?” he growled, low and guttural — like it was pulled from the deepest part of him.
I didn’t have to answer. He already knew.
He looked over me — the bruises on my arms, the faint bloodstains on my sleeves, the raw marks from restraint straps — and his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might break.
I reached for him, finally, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing tethering me to the world.
“I thought— I didn’t think anyone was coming,” I whispered.
He pulled me into his arms without a word, holding me like I was something precious. Like I hadn’t been used, or broken, or nearly erased.
“I would burn the world for you,” he murmured into my hair. “Don’t you ever think otherwise.”
And for the first time in days, I let myself breathe.
Because I wasn’t alone anymore.
And the storm had finally come for me.