It was late. The lights in the lab dimmed to a cold blue, humming just enough to remind you that this place was alive.
Darling sat on a bench in the hallway, staring through the glass wall into Buddha's office.
Two figures inside. One was him.
The other?
Tall. Broad. Covered in shadows like they were part of his skin. Whoever it was, they didn't speak much—but Buddha listened. And Darling didn't like that.
His wrist tingled.
The dampener bracelet blinked softly.
He looked down at it. Then across the hall. Then back again.
"You're still watching me, huh?" he muttered under his breath.
The door opened.
Buddha stepped out with that same smile—casual, unreadable, practiced.
"Couldn't sleep?"
Darling shrugged, eyes down.
"Guess not."
Buddha tilted his head. "Lot to process."
Darling didn't respond.
He just stood, nodded politely, and walked away.
But his thoughts were louder than any siren:
Something's not right.
He found Grif in the observation deck—alone, sitting on the floor with his back to the glass.
The whole city spread out below them, lights buzzing like a swarm.
Darling slid down beside him without saying anything.
Silence stretched for a while.
Then Grif spoke.
"They ever tell you why you're here?"
Darling glanced at him.
"No. Just told me I'm special. Dangerous. Valuable. You know—like a product in a store window."
Grif scoffed quietly. "Yeah. Sounds about right."
More silence.
Darling stared out at the skyline.
"What about you? You remember anything… before all this?"
Grif didn't answer right away.
He leaned his head back. Eyes half-shut. Breathing slow.
Then:
"My parents left me."
Darling looked over.
Grif's voice didn't crack, but it shook in small, invisible ways.
"Dropped me off at a hospital. Didn't leave a name. Just a note that said, 'Too much.'"
Darling didn't interrupt.
"I spent years in foster care. Some families were okay. Most weren't. One lady used to lock me in the laundry room when I cried. Said I was ungrateful."
He paused, blinking slowly.
"She made me eat off the floor. Once she said I needed to be 'taught a lesson'—and pushed my hand against a hot iron. Said it'd make me behave."
Darling's chest felt tight.
Grif looked down at his palm. "Still got the scar."
Darling opened his mouth to speak—but Grif kept going.
"The last house I was in… I thought it was going to be different. I had a room. A bed. And—"
He stopped.
His throat bobbed.
"I had a cat."
Darling blinked.
"You had a cat?"
Grif nodded slowly. "Yeah. Picked him up off the street. Little orange fuzzball. Named him Biscuit."
There was a tiny smile, just for a moment. Then it vanished.
"He'd follow me around the house. Sleep on my chest. He was the first thing that didn't flinch when I got angry."
Darling whispered, "He sounds nice."
Grif's hands clenched into fists.
"My foster brother hated him. Said he made too much noise. One night, I came home and Biscuit wasn't there. I found him in the garage."
A pause.
"He'd tied him up in a plastic bag."
Darling's eyes widened, horror blooming in his gut.
Grif didn't look at him. Just stared straight ahead.
"I screamed. Lost control. Burned the house down. Nobody died. But they sent me away after that."
Darling's voice was soft. "Because you loved something."
Grif finally turned his head.
"Because I broke when they took it away."
They sat in silence.
The kind of silence you can only have when someone has bled in front of you.
"Is that why you act like you don't care?" Darling asked quietly.
Grif nodded.
"Caring hurts. So I stopped."
Darling looked at the floor.
"I think… I do the opposite."
Grif raised an eyebrow.
"You care too much?"
"Yeah." Darling smiled weakly. "Even when I shouldn't."
Grif tilted his head.
"That's dumb."
Darling chuckled. "I know."
Then Grif looked away again.
"But it's better than being numb."
Darling wandered the halls again.
He wasn't tired. Just restless. The air felt too clean, too controlled.
He passed a row of locked doors—labs with no names. Classrooms with no windows.
Then he stopped at one labeled simply: OBSERVATION CHAMBER 09
The glass was one-way. But the light was on.
And someone inside was standing in the dark, staring at the wall.
A kid.
His age.
Hair silver, like his. Skin pale. A faint outline of feathers along his back.
The kid didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just stood there like a statue.
Darling whispered, "Who are you?"
The lights inside flickered.
Darling stepped back.
The door had no handle.
No way in.
But something inside turned slightly.
Like it heard him.
Later, in the restricted archives.
Darling stood in front of the terminal.
Typed in:
MIRIAM SHADOWSONG
ACCESS DENIED
But not before the photo appeared again—just long enough for him to burn it into memory.
A new detail flashed.
STASIS – LOCATION: UNKNOWN
Then something strange happened.
The system glitched.
Just briefly.
A second name appeared next to Syla's:
SHADOWSONG – SUBJECT 08 – STATUS: UNKNOWN
Darling blinked.
Subject 08?
But that would mean—
There was another one.
Back in the recovery room, Grif was half-asleep.
Darling sat beside him on the floor.
"Grif. What if we're not the only ones?"
Grif didn't open his eyes.
"We aren't."
"I mean—not just feather users. I mean people like us. Ones they're hiding."
Grif opened one eye.
"What makes you think that?"
"There's a room down the hall. There's a kid in it. He looks like me."
Grif sat up.
"They've got more?"
Darling nodded slowly.
"I think they've been making them."
Grif was quiet.
Then:
"Then this place isn't a lab."
Darling looked at him.
"What is it?"
Grif stood, stretched, eyes dark and hollow.
"It's a factory."
Darling's heart thudded.
And for the first time, he felt it.
The fear wasn't just about what he didn't know.
It was about what he was becoming.
Far below the lab—
In a stasis pod buried beneath metal and glass—
A heartbeat returned.
Miriam Shadowsong
Her eyes opened.
Slow. Glowing faintly red.
From the ceiling above her, black feathers began to fall.
~END OF CH 5