Chapter 3 The next phrase

Nyla POV

His expression shifted before my eyes, disbelief cracking into something fragile, something I had no right to see. His lips parted. He whispered two words.

“You came back.”

I froze. The words clawed through me. My mind screamed that I had never been here before. Never met him. Never….

“Did you hear me?” His voice was lower this time, rougher, trembling under the weight of something I could not name.

“I—I don’t—” My mouth opened and closed. My mind tried to protest, tried to pull the truth into a shape that made sense, but my body ignored me entirely. The heat, the pull, the ache I had felt in the corridor returned tenfold. It made my knees weak. My stomach roared. My chest felt as though it could split.

“You came back.” He repeated it, almost pleading, as if saying it once was not enough. “I knew you would.”

“You know me?” I whispered. My voice barely made it past my throat. My hands shook. My pulse hammered. My body refused the denial that my mind screamed. “I—have never been here before. I do not know you.”

“Yes, you do.” His eyes were molten gold again, absolute certainty radiating through the glass between us. “You always have. You never stopped.”

A siren screamed, shattering the moment. Alarms blared through Cell Block Seven. The sound set my teeth on edge. My heart slammed against my ribs. The lights stuttered and guards came running, shouting orders I could not process fast enough.

“Step back!” a guard shouted.

“Move her now!” another barked.

I tried to pull away. My body fought, shaking, resisting. Zane pressed his forehead against the glass. “Do not let them take her!” he shouted. His hands slammed against the pane hard enough to rattle the wall. Cracks spidered across the surface, but the glass held.

“Zane,” I said, alarm choking my voice. “They…..”

It was too late. They grabbed me. Strong hands tore at my arms, prying me away from the glass. My legs kicked, my fists flailed. “Let me go! Let me go!” I screamed. My voice echoed off the metal walls, loud and raw.

“Quiet, detainee!” a guard snapped, yanking my arms behind me.

I fought harder. The heat in my body burned. My nails dug into their uniforms. My palms opened and closed, leaving streaks of blood on sleeves. My wrists throbbed, the skin already raw from the restraints they forced over them.

“Stop resisting!” another guard yelled. “Now!”

Zane’s fists slammed the glass again. “Nyla!” His voice broke. “Do not let them hurt you!”

The hands on me tightened. My struggle only made them laugh. “She cannot stop,” one said. “She is bonded.”

“Bonded?” I spat the word back at them. “I am not bonded to anyone! You are lying!”

“You will understand soon,” one of them said. They dragged me through the corridors. The sound of alarms, shouted orders, and my own ragged breathing filled my head. My body was on fire. My pulse raced. My stomach knotted. I refused to stop, refused to calm, refused to submit.

They pushed me into Medical. The smell of antiseptic hit me. The harsh lights made my vision swim. An examination table stood in the center of the room, straps dangling like waiting hands.

“Stop!” I screamed, struggling against the men holding me. “I will not….”

The first strap went across my wrists. I twisted, swung, kicked. My nails broke through skin. Blood stung. My voice cracked. “Let me go! I do not belong here! I do not belong to you!”

One guard pressed me down, ignoring my struggle. The strap locked tight. Another went around my ankles. My legs jerked, flailing uselessly. My chest heaved. My hands throbbed. The blood burned. My vision blurred.

“Quiet,” a voice said. Calm. Collected. Satisfying. The sound of it cut through the chaos in my head.

Owen Graves stepped into the room. His presence was a shadow over the fluorescent lights. “Ah, Nyla,” he said, hands behind his back, smiling. Cold. Calculated. “I see the bond is reacting exactly as I expected.”

“Why?” I spat blood onto the floor. “Why did he say it? Why did my body respond? What is happening to me?”

“You think I would allow eight years of preparation to waste away on a whim?” he asked. “No, little one. This was inevitable.”

I shook violently against the straps. My body screamed for release, for him, for freedom, and my mind rattled with confusion and terror. “I do not understand! I never— I never met him! You have to explain—now!”

Graves’ smile widened. “Oh, I will explain. But first, we must secure the variables.”

“Variables? What variables?” I screamed, voice cracking. “I am not a test subject! He is not—he is a person!”

“Oh, he is very much a person,” Graves said softly. “And yet, both of you are more than that. You are exactly what I anticipated. Your bodies, your minds, your reactions. All of it confirms the bond I have spent years orchestrating.”

“Bond?” I screamed. “I do not—”

“You do,” Graves said, and it was not a question. “It has activated. You recognize each other because you were meant to. He remembers you, Nyla. You remember him. Even if your conscious mind does not, your body does. That is why you reacted the way you did.”

“You are lying!” My voice broke. My teeth ground together. My muscles tensed. My blood stung where the straps dug in. “I do not know him!”

“You know him,” Graves said. “Your body told me so before your mind could. Your hands shook. Your knees trembled. The recognition is undeniable.”

I tried to pull my wrists free again. Blood ran down the skin where the strap cut, slicking my palms. I banged against the table. My voice grew hoarse. “I am not part of your experiments! I am not a tool!”

Graves’ smile did not falter. “You are not a tool. You are a subject, yes, but one who fulfills a very specific purpose. I created the conditions for the bond to activate. I monitored your sleep. I observed every response, every reaction. You were sleeping, dreaming, and he was there. The connection existed. It always existed.”

“Dreams?” I whispered, chest heaving. “It was just dreams?”

He stepped closer, so close I could see the faint shine of his teeth. “Not dreams. Memories. Recognition. Proof that the bond was always waiting. That it was always real. You felt him because he was always there. He waited for you. And now, finally, the moment has come.”

I shook my head, eyes wide, trying to make sense. “No. No. That is impossible. I have never been here. I have never—”

“Your mind has not remembered yet,” Graves interrupted, calm and commanding. “Your body remembers. That is enough. That is exactly what I needed.”

I felt something twist in my chest, a sensation that was neither fear nor desire, but raw and unavoidable. My pulse was frantic. My vision narrowed. My hands throbbed, wrists bleeding. I slammed them down against the straps. “You cannot control this! You cannot make him—”

“I do not control him,” Graves said. “I facilitated the conditions. The rest is inevitable. You two were always meant to recognize each other. You always belonged to this moment, Nyla. That is why he said you came back.”

I pulled, screamed, begged, pleaded, kicked, anything to break free. My voice filled the room. The metallic clinks of straps and tables blended with my own ragged breathing. “No! I do not know him! Stop! You cannot do this!”

Graves’ eyes softened, just a fraction. “I do not intend to harm either of you. The bond will not let me. But it will let me watch. And you will understand, in time, why it was necessary. I have spent eight years ensuring this moment would arrive. Eight years preparing both of you, shaping everything to this one point. It is beautiful. It is perfect. And now it is real.”

I pressed my head to the table, chest heaving. My wrists throbbed. My legs burned. My body refused to obey me. My mind reeled. Recognition, certainty, and need roared through me in a way I had never felt. The bond was alive. It was real. It had been waiting for me all along.

“Why?” I demanded, voice cracking. “Why did you do this to me? To him? Why did you make him—make me—feel this?”

“Because, Nyla,” Graves said softly, almost kindly, “the world does not wait. Bonds like yours do not wait. If I had not acted, it would have been lost forever. Now, it is alive. And you will learn what it means. Soon.”

I pressed my hands into the straps, tried to push off the table, tried to fight the overwhelming need and certainty that coursed through me. My breathing was shallow. My heart raced. My body trembled. My wrists burned, blood running into the metal, warm and slick, a reminder of everything I could not resist.

Zane’s voice echoed in my head, fierce and certain. “You came back.”

“Yes,” I whispered to myself. “Yes, I came back.”

Graves’ smile widened. “Exactly as I predicted,” he murmured. “And now, the next phase begins.”