Jay POV
Philippines — East Wing — Clinical Containment
Hour Unknown
Time didn't pass here. It pooled.
The lights never dimmed. The air stayed the same sterile temperature—too cold for a pregnant body, too clean to feel human. Every breath tasted faintly metallic, like blood and antiseptic had made a pact.
They left me alone after Kaizer left.
Not alone alone.
The camera watched. The monitor listened. The drip kept time better than any clock.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I counted heartbeats instead of minutes.
My wrists burned where the restraints cut circulation just enough to remind me they were there. My ankles ached. My back screamed from being locked flat, belly pulled tight beneath the web of wires and gel.
I tried to breathe through it.
In.
Out.
Slow.
"Hey," I whispered, voice barely sound. "It's okay. I'm here."
I didn't know if I was talking to myself or the baby anymore.
Another kick answered—lighter this time. Cautious. Like he was testing whether it was safe.
Tears slid into my ears.
"I know," I murmured. "I know this place is wrong."
A soft chime sounded. The door hissed open again.
This time it wasn't Kaizer.
Two women entered. Clinical whites. Faces blank. One carried a tablet; the other pushed a compact cart with instruments neatly aligned like offerings.
Neither met my eyes.
"No," I said immediately. "Don't—fuck—just tell me what you're doing."
The one with the tablet spoke without inflection. "Routine assessment."
"You already did one."
"This is more detailed."
The cart rolled closer. I saw syringes. A portable ultrasound probe. A vial with amber fluid that caught the light too thickly.
My pulse spiked. The monitor echoed it—beepbeepbeep—
"I don't consent," I said. Louder now. "You can't just—"
The second woman pressed a hand to my shoulder. Firm. Impersonal.
"Elevated stress increases fetal risk," she said. "Remain calm."
"Get your hands off me!"
The first woman adjusted the drip. Cold surged up my arm.
"No—no—what is that?" Panic finally broke through the drug fog, sharp and terrifying.
"Supplemental sedative," she replied. "Low dose."
My limbs went heavy again. The room tilted.
I fought it. Dug my nails into my palms. Focused on the pain.
"My partner is coming," I slurred. "You don't get away with this."
Neither woman reacted.
The ultrasound probe pressed into my belly, gel spreading cold. The screen flickered to life, angled away from me.
"Healthy cardiac activity," the tablet woman said. "Growth metrics within optimal variance."
Optimal.
Like he was a crop.
"Don't say it like that," I whispered.
The second woman paused. Just for a fraction of a second. Her jaw tightened.
Then she resumed.
They took blood. Logged vitals. Adjusted restraints again—tighter across my thighs this time.
When they finally stepped back, the room felt smaller. More hostile.
As they turned to leave, I found a shred of strength and forced the words out.
"Does it ever end?" I asked.
The woman with the tablet hesitated at the door.p
"For you?" she said quietly.
She didn't answer.
The door sealed.
I broke then.
Not loudly. Not violently. Just silent tears, sliding endlessly as the ceiling blurred.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to my stomach. "I should've gotten us out sooner."
A slow, deliberate movement rolled beneath my skin.
Then—one kick.
Then another.
Stronger.
Defiant.
A weak laugh bubbled out of me, half-sob.
"That's my boy," I breathed. "That's you."
For the first time since waking up, something shifted—not fear, not pain.
Resolve.
If Kaizer thought I was just a vessel, he was wrong.
And if Keifer was really coming—
I would stay alive long enough for him to find me.
Keifer POV
Black Charter Jet — Night Cycle
Indian Ocean Airspace
Sleep didn't come.
I sat with my back against the cabin wall, stripping and reassembling my sidearm by feel alone. Muscle memory. Control. Something solid in a situation that was anything but.
Click.
Slide.
Lock.
Niles watched me from across the aisle, saying nothing.
"You ever notice," I said finally, "how men like Kaizer always believe restraint equals power?"
Niles arched a brow. "You planning a philosophy lecture?"
"No." I chambered the weapon. "An execution."
He exhaled slowly, then leaned forward. "Listen to me. This isn't just about getting Jay out."
I looked up.
"This facility?" he continued. "It's a prototype. East Wing is only one node. If we botch this, he disappears her into another black site. Or worse—legitimizes the project."
My grip tightened. "He doesn't get that far."
Niles held my gaze. "Then you have to follow the plan."
The word tasted bitter.
"What if he hurts her during the transfer?" I demanded. "What if she crashes? What if—"
"Then we adapt," Niles said sharply. "But if you go feral, you lose her."
Silence fell heavy between us.
Finally, I nodded once. "Fine."
The jet shuddered lightly as turbulence rolled through.
I pressed my fingers to my temple, focusing past the noise. Past the metal. Past the distance.
And there it was again.
Not words.
Fear—sharp, contained.
Pain—dull, persistent.
And beneath it—
Strength.
She was still fighting.
A flicker of warmth spread through my chest, followed immediately by rage so cold it burned.
"She's awake," I said suddenly.
Niles frowned. "What?"
"She's not under full sedation," I said. "He wants her conscious."
Understanding dawned slowly on Niles' face. "Psychological pressure."
"He wants me to come apart," I growled. "He wants her to feel alone."
I stood, rolling my shoulders, checking my vest one last time.
"He miscalculated."
Niles followed my gaze. "How so?"
"Jay doesn't break," I said. "And I don't negotiate."
The comm beeped softly.
"Entering approach corridor in eighteen hours," the pilot reported.
I closed my eyes briefly.
Hold on, I sent into the dark—not hope, not prayer.
A promise.
"When I reach you," I whispered, "this ends."
Somewhere far away, behind walls and locks and men who thought they were gods—
My son kicked.
And I smiled.