We stopped at a rest area just past the halfway point. It was an old parking lot by a gutted convenience store—barely more than rubble and rust, the air stale with the scent of fuel and ash. The drivers needed to piss and smoke. Some needed to stretch their legs. A few wandered off to scavenge snacks or check in through scrambled comms.
I stayed by the van.
I didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
Not until I heard them.
Two of the gang members—ones I didn't recognize—were loitering by the cargo vehicle, standing with their backs against the metal frame like they owned the world. Laughing low. Joking.
I shouldn't have listened.
But I did.
"Did you see the white-haired one?" one of them said. "Bet the Supreme Leader's gonna have a hell of a time with that."
The other snorted. "Heard he's already been broken in. I'd pay a year's salary to get a taste of that. You saw his face? Shit—almost pretty enough to make a man forget what he is."
I froze.
My fingers curled into the side of the van. Cold metal under my palm. Nyx went still.
"Heard the boss had his turn already. Bastard doesn't share, though. Said the thing gets all clingy after."
The first man laughed. "Doesn't matter. Once he's with the Supreme Leader, it's open season. Just a doll. A tight little—"
Stop.
Nyx's voice, sharp as claws, cut through my skull. She didn't shout. She didn't growl. She just said it like a knife sliding into silk.
If you keep listening, I'll take over.
I wanted to. Goddess, I wanted to. I wanted to let her take control, shift, tear, maul.
But I didn't move.
Because the second I did, they'd know I was listening.
And worse, I'd give them exactly what they wanted—proof that he meant something to me.
So I stayed frozen. Muscles trembling under my skin. Heart hammering.
The laughter continued, casual and cruel, drifting on the wind like smoke.
They weren't talking about a person.
They weren't even talking about a hybrid.
Just a toy.
Something pretty and pliable. Something meant to be used.
They don't know him, Nyx hissed. They don't know how scared he gets when he flinches. How he presses his face into your chest when he can't breathe. They don't know what it cost him just to say your name.
I bit down on my tongue until I tasted blood.
They didn't know the way he whispered through the bond, desperate and dizzy. Didn't know how he cried when he thought I'd get punished for helping him. Didn't know how he tried to hold still for the doctors, tried so hard not to make it harder for anyone, even as they shoved him around like furniture.
They didn't know him.
But they talked like they did.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
I couldn't speak.
Couldn't act.
Couldn't even look in their direction.
Because they had power. Because they had weapons. Because one of them probably had the trigger to the chip lodged in Nine's skull.
So I did nothing.
I stood there.
I let their words soak into my skin like poison.
The break ended.
Someone barked orders.
The gang members filed back into their vehicles. I caught one of them smirking as he passed me.
I didn't look at him.
Didn't even breathe.
I got back into the van. Shut the door. Faced forward.
The driver didn't ask me anything. Just started the engine and pulled onto the road.
The convoy rolled forward.
The crates rattled in the back.
And somewhere inside the metal box behind me, Nine was probably curled into himself, quiet and still.
Unaware.
Unaware that even in rest, even in silence, even on the side of a road surrounded by cracked pavement and cold wind—
He was still being used.
Still being stripped down into something less than a person.
And I couldn't stop it.
Not yet.
But I was still breathing.
Still here.
Still waiting.
Still watching the road.