The word still hung in the air.
Shivis lowered his gaze from the ceiling. His body felt steadier now, too steady for what had just happened. The warmth inside his chest stayed calm, constant, like a quiet engine running in the background.
Dr. Mira Hale stepped back from the console and tapped a control near the wall.
A soft chime echoed through the room.
"That signal just flagged central oversight," Lina said. Her voice was careful again, professional, but her shoulders were tense.
"How long?" Dr. Hale asked.
"Minutes," Lina replied. "Maybe less."
The emergency lights dimmed slightly, shifting from red to a dull amber. Backup systems hummed back online, slow and cautious, like they were testing the space before committing.
Shivis flexed his fingers. The restraints were still there, but looser than before. He could move—just not freely.
"So what happens now?" he asked.
Dr. Hale didn't answer immediately. She studied him the way someone looks at a problem that has no good solution.
"Now," she said finally, "we stop treating this as implantation recovery."
"And start treating it as what?" Shivis pressed.
"Observation," Lina said.
The door at the far end of the room slid open slightly. Not fully—just enough to show armed security standing outside. Their uniforms were darker, heavier than medical staff. Their posture was alert, hands resting close to their sides.
Shivis noticed the change right away.
"I didn't do anything," he said.
"We know," Dr. Hale replied. "That's not the concern."
The warmth inside his chest pulsed once, slow and deliberate.
Lina glanced at one of the screens. "They're asking for a classification."
Dr. Hale's jaw tightened. "Tell them it's pending."
"Pending what?"
Dr. Hale met Shivis's eyes again. "Pending confirmation of what kind of gods you're carrying."
Shivis's throat tightened. "You already said they were forbidden."
"Yes," she said. "But there are degrees of forbidden."
The room felt smaller again—not because of pressure, but because of attention. Cameras adjusted subtly, lenses focusing.
Shivis shifted in the chair. "And if they don't like the answer?"
Dr. Hale didn't soften her voice. "Then this stops being a hospital room."
The warmth inside Shivis didn't react.
It waited.
The warmth inside Shivis stayed quiet, steady, like it was listening along with him.
Heavy footsteps approached from beyond the door.
Not rushed. Not hesitant.
Measured.
The door slid fully open this time. Two security officers stepped inside first, scanning the room quickly. Behind them came a man in a dark coat, neatly pressed, his hair touched with gray at the temples. He didn't wear a badge on his chest. It was clipped inside his coat instead.
That alone told Shivis enough.
The man's eyes moved to him immediately.
"So," the man said calmly, "this is the exception."
Dr. Mira Hale straightened. "Director Rowan," she said. "You came quickly."
"I was already nearby," Rowan replied. His gaze never left Shivis. "Cases like this tend to… ripple."
He stepped closer, stopping just outside arm's reach. He smelled faintly of leather and something clean, expensive.
"How do you feel?" Rowan asked.
Shivis blinked. The question caught him off guard. "Like everyone's talking around me."
A faint smile touched Rowan's lips. "That's fair."
Rowan glanced at the screens. "Forbidden identifiers, early activation, level instability," he said lightly. "You've been busy."
"I was on a chair," Shivis said. "Not exactly busy."
Lina looked uncomfortable. Dr. Hale didn't.
"His power markers don't follow standard progression," she said. "They reacted to containment failure instead of stimulus."
Rowan hummed softly. "Adaptive, then."
Shivis shifted against the restraints. "You're talking like I'm a weapon."
Rowan finally looked at him directly. His eyes were sharp, assessing, but not cruel.
"No," Rowan said. "Weapons are simple. You're… unclear."
The word landed heavier than forbidden.
Rowan turned slightly. "What's his current level?"
Lina hesitated. "That's the problem. It doesn't map cleanly. It's registering potential across multiple thresholds."
Rowan's eyebrows rose just a little.
"Interesting," he said.
The warmth inside Shivis pulsed again. Not in fear. Not in anger.
Awareness.
Rowan noticed the movement—just a shift in Shivis's breathing, a change in posture.
"You feel that, don't you?" Rowan asked quietly.
Shivis didn't answer right away.
"Yes," he said finally.
Rowan nodded once, satisfied. "Good. Then we'll proceed carefully."
"Proceed how?" Shivis asked.
Rowan turned toward the door. "Transfer," he said. "Observation site. Restricted."
Dr. Hale stiffened. "He just survived implantation."
"And he survived it wrong," Rowan replied calmly. "That makes him valuable."
The word hung there.
The warmth inside Shivis didn't move.
But something deep inside him paid attention.
Valuable.
The word stayed with Shivis as the room moved around him.
Security stepped closer. Not fast. Not rough. Just close enough to make the space feel smaller. One of them tapped something on the wall, and the restraints around Shivis's wrists tightened—not painfully, just enough to remove choice.
"This isn't necessary," Lina said. "He's stable."
"For now," Director Rowan replied. "Stability doesn't mean safety."
Dr. Mira Hale turned slightly toward Shivis. Her voice lowered. "This isn't punishment," she said. "It's procedure."
Shivis let out a short breath. "That's what everyone says."
The chair released him slowly, lifting him upright instead of letting him stand on his own. His legs felt solid beneath him, but unfamiliar—like they belonged to him and didn't at the same time.
A thin band closed around his wrist with a soft click.
Cold metal.
The touch sent a faint ripple through his arm, like static brushing his skin. The warmth in his chest responded—not strongly, just a small tightening, as if it had noticed the restraint.
Rowan watched carefully.
"That's a limiter," Rowan said. "It'll keep your levels from rising unexpectedly."
Shivis looked at the band. "And if they rise anyway?"
Rowan smiled faintly. "Then we learn something new."
The doors opened. The hallway beyond was darker than before, lit by narrow strips along the walls. The air smelled different here—less clean, more recycled, carrying traces of oil and metal.
As they moved, Shivis noticed how everyone walked slightly ahead of him. No one turned their back. No one touched him unless necessary.
Custody.
The warmth inside his chest shifted again. Not pushing. Not resisting.
Understanding.
As they reached the transport door, Rowan paused beside Shivis.
"You're not in trouble," Rowan said quietly. "Yet."
Shivis met his eyes. "That's supposed to help?"
Rowan's expression didn't change. "It's supposed to be honest."
The door slid open.
Beyond it waited a narrow transport chamber, restraints built into the walls, lights low and steady.
Shivis took a step forward.
And for the first time since the needle touched his skin, he understood something clearly—
This wasn't recovery.
This was the beginning.
The transport chamber sealed shut behind Shivis with a soft, final sound. The walls were close—closer than the medical room—lined with dull metal panels that absorbed light instead of reflecting it.
The air felt cooler here.
A restraint slid into place across his chest, firm but not crushing. Another locked around his ankles. The wrist band pulsed once, cold against his skin, then went still.
The chamber hummed.
Low. Steady.
As the transport began to move, the vibration traveled up through the floor and into Shivis's legs. Not rough—controlled, deliberate. Like the vehicle knew exactly how fast it was allowed to go.
Shivis leaned his head back against the wall. The metal was cool, grounding. His breathing slowed without effort, each inhale clean, each exhale steady.
No alarms.
No voices.
Just motion.
The warmth inside his chest shifted again. Not pushing outward. Not hiding.
Present.
Shivis became aware of small things—the sound of his own heartbeat, the faint smell of oil in the air, the soft click of mechanisms adjusting around him. Time stretched, thin and quiet.
He flexed his fingers once.
The restraint didn't tighten.
That surprised him.
"Still there?" Shivis said softly, not sure who he was speaking to.
The words vanished into the hum.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the warmth responded—not with words, not with sound—but with a subtle pressure, like a hand resting briefly against his ribs.
Not claiming.
Acknowledging.
Shivis's breath caught, just for a second.
The transport slowed.
Somewhere ahead, locks disengaged one by one, heavy and precise. The hum dropped in pitch as the vehicle came to a stop.
Lights along the chamber walls brightened slightly.
Shivis lifted his head.
Whatever waited on the other side of this door, he knew one thing clearly now—
He wasn't alone anymore.
The transport door slid open.
Cold air rushed in, sharper than before, carrying the smell of steel, recycled oxygen, and something faintly chemical. White lights flooded the chamber, too bright at first, forcing Shivis to squint.
Beyond the door stretched a long corridor—wide, clean, and expensive. The floor was polished dark stone, not metal. The walls weren't bare either. Thin gold lines ran through them in precise patterns, decorative and unnecessary.
Money lived here.
Shivis stepped out. The restraints unlocked one by one, but the band on his wrist stayed. He noticed that immediately.
Armed guards stood along the corridor at even distances. Their armor was newer than the facility's, darker, marked with a symbol Shivis didn't recognize. Their faces were hidden behind visors.
Not soldiers.
Assets.
Director Rowan walked beside him again, hands clasped behind his back like this was a tour.
"Welcome to Oversight Annex Twelve," Rowan said. "Privately funded. Publicly denied."
Shivis glanced around. "So who owns this place?"
Rowan smiled slightly. "Everyone important. Which means no one takes responsibility."
They passed large glass sections along the corridor. Behind them were rooms—some empty, some occupied.
Shivis slowed.
In one room, a young man sat strapped to a chair similar to Shivis's. His eyes were open, unfocused. Tubes ran into his arms, his neck. Symbols flickered across the glass in front of him.
"He failed compatibility screening," Rowan said casually. "Didn't die. Didn't stabilize either."
Shivis's jaw tightened. "How long has he been like that?"
Rowan didn't answer.
They kept walking.
"In public," Rowan continued, "gods are miracles. Symbols. Inspiration. People donate, vote, and kill for them."
Another glass wall.
This one showed a woman kneeling on the floor, surrounded by faint glowing marks etched into the walls. Her lips moved constantly, whispering something. Chains anchored her wrists—not physical ones. Light-bound restraints that pulsed when she struggled.
"In private," Rowan said, "gods are resources."
The warmth inside Shivis's chest tightened—not in anger, not fear.
Attention.
"We measure belief," Rowan went on. "We invest in it. We redirect it. Some gods bring stability. Others bring profit."
"And the dangerous ones?" Shivis asked.
Rowan stopped walking.
He turned to Shivis fully now. "Those are either broken down," he said calmly, "or locked away until someone figures out how to use them."
Shivis met his gaze. "And me?"
Rowan studied him, eyes sharp, calculating. "You don't fit existing models," he said. "Which makes you expensive."
They reached a reinforced door marked only with a number.
Inside waited a large observation room—glass walls, a simple bed, a table bolted to the floor. Cameras embedded everywhere. No shadows untouched.
"Your gods," Rowan said, activating the door panel, "are already causing arguments upstairs. Different groups want different outcomes."
"Political groups," Shivis said.
"Financial," Rowan corrected. "Political comes later."
The door opened.
Rowan paused before letting Shivis step inside.
"One more thing," he said. "Cruelty here is rarely emotional. It's efficient. Remember that."
Shivis stepped into the room.
The door sealed behind him.
The warmth inside his chest didn't retreat.
It observed.