Chapter 27
ELIZA
The clinic smells faintly of antiseptic, woodsmoke, and something metallic underneath it all.
Blood. Not fresh—not anymore—but enough of it that the scent lingers in the air, woven into the grain of the floorboards and the fabric of the cots lining the walls.
It’s not overwhelming. Clara keeps things clean, organized, controlled.
But there’s no disguising what this place has become over the last few days. A triage point. A place where the cost of every skirmish comes to rest.
“Hold still,” Clara says gently.
The wolf sitting on the edge of the cot—still in human form but barely—grits his teeth and nods. His shoulder is torn open in a long, jagged line that looks less like a bite and more like something carved.
I swallow the instinctive reaction that rises in my throat and focus on what Clara showed me earlier. Clean first. Then assess. Then treat.
“Gauze,” Clara says without looking up.
I hand it to her immediately. She presses it carefully against the wound, her movements steady despite the damage she’s working with.
“You’re lucky,” she tells him. “Another inch deeper and we’d be having a very different conversation.”
The wolf huffs out something that might be a laugh.
“Didn’t feel lucky.”
“It never does,” Clara replies.
I move to the small tray beside her, preparing the next set of supplies without needing to be told. That’s become my role here. Not leading. Not deciding. Supporting. Observing. Learning. And the more I see— The less abstract any of this feels.
“Pressure’s holding,” Clara says after a moment. “Good.”
I glance at the wound again, forcing myself to really look this time instead of flinching away from it. There’s something off about it. Not just the severity. The shape. The edges. They’re… too clean in places. Too deliberate.
“Clara,” I say quietly.
She glances at me.
“Do you see that?”
She follows my gaze back to the wound, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Yes,” she says after a moment. “I noticed it too.”
“It’s not tearing,” I say. “Not entirely.”
“No,” she agrees. “It isn’t.”
The injured wolf shifts slightly.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
Clara doesn’t answer right away.
By the time he’s stabilized and resting, I’m already moving toward the back room. The one we’ve been using for… other examinations. The door is slightly ajar. Inside, the air is cooler.
Still. And very, very quiet. The hybrid corpse lies on the table where it was placed earlier, partially covered but not enough to hide what it is. Or what was done to it.
I step inside slowly, closing the door behind me. For a moment, I just stand there. Looking. Because this is different from the chaos of an attack. This is stillness. And stillness makes details harder to ignore.
“Go ahead,” Clara’s voice says from behind me.
I hadn’t heard her approach.
“I’ll be right here,” she adds.
I nod, stepping closer to the table. The hybrid is smaller than the one Cade described from the canyon, but up close, the unnatural elements are impossible to miss. The proportions.
The musculature. The way the body seems built for speed and aggression rather than survival.
I reach for the edge of the covering and pull it back further. And that’s when I see it.
“Clara…”
She steps beside me.
“I know,” she says quietly.
The scars run along the creature’s side, partially hidden beneath matted fur but unmistakable once you’re looking for them. Clean lines. Parallel in places. Intersecting in others.
Not random. Not the result of injury. Deliberate incisions. Surgical. My chest tightens slightly.
“I’ve seen this before,” I say.
Clara glances at me.
“Where?”
I swallow.
“In the files,” I reply. “From my investigation.”
The words feel heavier now than they did when I first uncovered them. Because back then, they were just data points. Reports. Photographs. Redacted documents hinting at something bigger than anyone wanted to admit. Now— They’re real.
“They used this technique for invasive modification,” I continue, forcing myself to stay focused. “Genetic integration. Structural alteration. Behavioral conditioning.”
Clara’s expression darkens slightly.
“This was done to it,” she says.
“Yes.”
Not born. Not evolved. Created. I move closer, leaning in to examine the scars more carefully.
“They opened the body along these lines to access internal systems,” I explain. “Muscle groups, nerve pathways—anything they wanted to enhance or override.”
Clara’s gaze sharpens.
“Override?”
“They weren’t just changing the body,” I say. “They were changing how it functions.”
“How it behaves,” she adds.
“Yes.”
Silence settles heavy. Because this confirms something we were hoping wasn’t true.
“This isn’t accidental,” Clara says.
“No,” I reply.
“And it’s not finished.”
That makes me look at her.
“What do you mean?”
She gestures toward the body.
“If they were experimenting at this level,” she says, “they wouldn’t stop after one iteration.”
I nod slowly.
“They didn’t.”
Because I remember the reports. The references to multiple subjects. Multiple phases.
Escalation.
“They refined the process,” I say. “Each version more controlled than the last.”
Clara’s lips press together.
“And more dangerous.”
“Yes.”
I straighten slightly, my mind already racing ahead.
“This wasn’t just about creating something stronger,” I say. “It was about creating something controllable.”
Clara’s expression tightens.
“By who?”
I don’t hesitate.
“Strayer.”
The name feels like a shadow in the room. Cold. Precise. Uncomfortable in ways that go beyond simple recognition.
“You’re certain?” Clara asks.
“Yes.”
I step back from the table, my hands curling slightly at my sides.
“He was leading the project,” I continue. “Everything we uncovered pointed back to him.”
“And you think he’s still involved?” she asks.
I hesitate. Because that’s the question. The one I haven’t wanted to fully answer yet. But standing here, looking at what’s been done to this creature— There’s only one conclusion that makes sense.
“Yes,” I say.
Clara exhales slowly.
“That would mean—”
“That this isn’t over,” I finish.
“No,” she agrees. “It isn’t.”
I find Cade outside not long after. He’s standing in the clearing again, like he always does when he needs to think. Or when he’s anticipating something.
“Cade,” I call.
He turns immediately. Something in my expression must give me away, because his posture shifts before I even reach him.
“What is it?” he asks.
“We need to talk.”
He doesn’t ask anything else. Just nods once and steps closer.
“Tell me.”
I take a breath, steadying myself.
“The hybrids,” I say. “They weren’t just altered—they were engineered.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
“We knew that.”
“Not like this,” I reply. “Not to this extent.”
I explain what I saw. The scars. The procedures. The methods. The connection to the files I reviewed before coming here. Cade listens without interrupting, his focus absolute. When I finish, silence hangs. Then—
“You’re saying this wasn’t a closed project,” he says.
“Yes.”
“And whoever created them—”
“Is still connected to them,” I confirm.
His jaw tightens slightly.
“Monitoring,” he says.
“Most likely.”
“Or controlling.”
That possibility sits heavier.
“Either way,” I say, “this isn’t only a pack of rogue predators.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s something directed.”
We stand there, both of us looking toward the forest without really seeing it. Because what’s out there isn’t just instinct anymore. It’s design.
“They were built to be aggressive,” I continue. “To respond to stimuli. To track targets.”
Cade’s gaze shifts to me.
“Targets like you.”
I don’t deny it. Because I already know that’s true.
“Yes.”
His expression hardens.
“And if someone is still monitoring them,” he says, “they’ll know you’re here.”
“They might already,” I reply.
That lands. Hard. Because it changes the scale of everything. This isn’t just about defending territory anymore. It’s about facing something that might be watching from beyond it.
“Then we’re not just dealing with what’s in the forest,” Cade says.
“No,” I agree.
“We’re dealing with whoever put it there.”
The words settle between us like something final. Something unavoidable. Because if Strayer is still out there— If this is still part of something larger— Then this fight isn’t just about survival. It’s about stopping something that was never meant to be unleashed in the first place.
And now that it is— We’re the ones standing in its way. The thought should terrify me. Maybe part of it does.
But beneath the fear, something else settles in its place—something steadier, sharper.
Clarity. I draw in a slow breath, forcing my thoughts to line up instead of scatter.
“If he’s still monitoring them,” I say, “then he’s not just observing outcomes. He’s collecting data.”
Cade’s gaze stays on me.
“For what?” he asks.
“To improve the design,” I answer. “To refine control. To eliminate variables that don’t behave the way he wants.”
“Variables,” Cade repeats, his tone flattening.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “That’s how he would see it.”
Not people. Not lives. Not even the creatures themselves. Just results. Adjustments. Iterations.
Cade’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, something darker flickers in his expression.
“Then we end it before he gets that chance,” he says.
I hold his gaze.
“That might not be enough,” I admit. “If he’s still out there, he could start over somewhere else.”
Silence settles between us again. Heavy. Complicated. Because this isn’t just about what’s in front of us anymore. It’s about what comes after. Cade exhales slowly, his focus sharpening again into something controlled.
“Then we deal with what’s here first,” he says.
I nod. Because he’s right. One battle at a time. But as I glance back toward the dark line of trees, I can’t shake the feeling that somewhere beyond them— Someone is already watching to see how this one ends.