The Morning After

The sharp knock on the door jolts me awake, sending a wave of confusion through my foggy brain. I squint at the clock—0600 on the dot. I groan, pulling the thin blanket up over my face, wishing desperately for another hour of sleep. But the knock comes again, more insistent, so I force myself up, stumbling towards the door with bed hair sticking up in wild directions. I know I must look like a mess, but I can’t bring myself to care.

I open the door to find Ben standing there, his mouth quirking up at the corners as he takes in my disheveled state. He lets out a chuckle, quickly stifling it with a polite cough, but I catch the amused glint in his eye.

“Good morning, Dr. Adams,” he says, doing his best to sound formal. “Breakfast is ready in the main hall. They’ll clear it out in thirty minutes, so I thought you might want something to eat.”

For a second, I just blink at him, trying to piece together his words through my sleepy haze. “Right. Thanks, Ben. Just… give me a minute.”

He nods and leans against the doorframe while I retreat to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on my face, I try to shake off the exhaustion clinging to me like a second skin. I look in the mirror and run my fingers through my hair, smoothing down the worst of the knots. The bruised circles under my eyes remind me of the weight of yesterday’s events. It all comes back to me in a rush—Drayton’s threats, The Creature’s haunted expression as they dragged him away, the heavy knowledge that I’d agreed to stay here and witness things I could barely stomach.

I take a deep breath, giving myself one last look in the mirror before heading back to the door. I feel as though I’ve been hit by a truck, my muscles aching from the tension of yesterday.

When I step back into the hallway, Ben raises an eyebrow. “Feel better?”

“Yes, thank you,” I reply, trying not to sound as groggy as I feel. I’m not a morning person by any stretch, and until I get a cup of coffee, I know I won’t be much use to anyone.

He leads me down the corridor, and as we approach the main hall, the smell of food wafts over us—faintly warm and comforting. My stomach growls, and I feel my spirits lift, just a little, at the prospect of a hot breakfast. But as we reach the serving area, I see trays lined with canned baked beans on toast. My shoulders sink a little, but I remind myself that food is food. I can’t afford to be picky here.

I grab a plate, trying to mask my disappointment as I sit down at an empty table with Ben. The beans are lukewarm, the toast slightly soggy, but I’m too hungry to care. I dig in, focusing on each bite, grateful for the sustenance even if it’s not much to look forward to.

The hall is quiet, filled with a low murmur of voices and the clinking of silverware against plates. Ben and I sit in companionable silence, and I can’t help but appreciate his presence. There’s something solid about him—steady, dependable. In a place like this, where I feel like I’m on the edge of a precipice, it’s nice to have someone who seems unfazed by everything.

Once we finish eating, I turn to him. “Ben, would you mind taking me to see… the creature?” I try to keep my voice steady, but I can hear the tremor in it. Just thinking about Kael—about what he must be going through—is enough to make my hands clench around my coffee mug.

He glances at me, his expression unreadable for a moment, and then he nods. “I’ve got approval to take you there. Drayton has made it clear that I’m also to monitor you during your time here.” He says it calmly, matter-of-factly, but the words hit me like a splash of cold water.

“Monitor me?” The confusion seeps into my voice. “Why would they need to do that?”

He shrugs, his gaze steady. “Standard protocol. Researchers like yourself are brought in for their knowledge, but they want to make sure everything is… contained. That includes keeping an eye on interactions with our… subject.”

I want to argue, to demand more answers, but I bite my tongue. I can’t afford to jeopardize my access here, not when I still don’t fully understand the scope of what they’re doing to Kael.

Instead, I murmur, “Thank you, Ben,” and follow him out of the hall.

The corridors we walk through seem endless, each one identical to the last, lit by sterile overhead lights that give everything a flat, washed-out look. I try to steel myself, to keep my breathing even as my heart pounds in my chest. I know I should be approaching this with professional detachment—after all, this is technically “research.” But every step I take feels like it’s leading me into something darker, something that pushes me further from the ethics and values I hold so close.

Ben glances back at me as we reach a large, reinforced door. “Are you ready?”

I swallow hard and nod, though I don’t feel ready at all. He opens the door, and we step into a room separated by a glass wall. Behind the glass, The creature is there, restrained and still, but his eyes flicker open when he senses us, his gaze immediately locking onto mine. The force of his stare makes my breath hitch—it’s like he’s trying to reach me, trying to communicate something that words can’t.

I press my hand against the glass, feeling the coolness of it, and I wonder if he can feel it, too. The intensity in his eyes is both heartbreaking and terrifying, a reminder of what’s at stake, of the lengths these people are willing to go to.

Ben’s expression is carefully neutral, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, maybe.

I need to check his vital, if the creature is feeling anything like myself..... he'll need assistance. The need to care for another kicks in as I run a diagonitic test to determine what the creature's vital needs are, what does he eat, what type of minerals are needed in the water for his survival. Is the temperature ok. Unfortuantely alot of this practice is trial and error. It's saddens me the only way I'll know if it works is by watching he's reaction to the changes.....