This goes in your evaluation file.
Six weeks until the Panel. And now they have documentation of what I do without trying, without understanding, without being able to stop.
I don't know what I am. But the people who put me here do. And after today, they have proof.
Chapter seven
Sven looks different today. Something has tightened in his face.
"Breakfast. Then your room."
"No programming?"
"Programming is suspended pending review." He says it flat. Procedural. But his eyes do a sweep of the hallway before he steps aside to let me out. He's checking who's nearby. He's never done that before.
"Is Leo —"
"Contained. Stable. Not your concern."
"He shifted because of me."
Sven doesn't answer. Which is an answer.
The walk to the cafeteria is different. Not the route — the energy. Sven walks closer than usual. His hand hovers near my arm without touching it, ready to grab but not grabbing.
We pass two Red House guys in the hallway. One of them — tall, thin, early twenties — presses himself flat against the wall as I pass. Not subtly. He turns his face away and holds his breath and grips the doorframe beside him and waits until I'm past before he exhales.
The other one doesn't press away. He leans in. Just slightly — an inch, maybe two — his chin lifting, his nostrils flaring, pulling air. His pupils dilate. His hands flex at his sides.
Sven's arm comes up between us like a gate. "Move," he says to the guy. Not to me. The guy blinks. Shakes his head like he's clearing water from his ears. Steps back.
This is different from before. In the cafeteria on my first day, the reactions were confused. Uncomfortable. Men shifting in seats and gripping benches. This is escalated. The flat-against-the-wall guy was afraid. The lean-in guy was — I don't have the right word. Compelled. Like my scent was a hook and his body was following it without consulting his brain.
"It's worse," I say to Sven's back. "Their reaction. It's worse than before."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Your scent profile has changed since the yard incident." He says it like he's reporting weather data. "It's stronger. More destabilizing."
"My scent profile."
"Keep walking."
The cafeteria is almost empty. Early seating — Sven has shifted my meal time to avoid the crowd. Smart. I eat oatmeal at a table alone while four guys at the other end of the room try very hard not to look at me and fail.
Torres is one of them. He's back from wherever they took him after his shift in the common room. He's eating with his head down, shoulders hunched, making himself small in a waythat doesn't suit his build. When I walked in, his spoon stopped halfway to his mouth and stayed there for a full five seconds before he forced it the rest of the way.
He doesn't whisper murder girl this time. He doesn't say anything. He just keeps his head down and eats and breathes through his mouth.
The walk back is worse.
Three guys in the hallway. Sven's hand finds my arm this time — no hovering, direct contact, steering me down the center of the corridor like he's threading a needle. One of the guys makes a sound when I pass. Not a word. Not a growl. Something in between.
Sven walks faster.
"No unsupervised contact until interim review," Sven says from the doorway. "Meals will be brought to your room going forward. Any movement outside this door requires my escort or Gavin's direct authorization. This is effective immediately."
