Either he hasn't been briefed properly, or he isn't worried. The second option is more interesting than the first. What could possibly make an Alpha so… arrogant? And yet, I find that intriguing all the same.
"Hands," he grunts.
I glance down at my hands with genuine contemplation, like I'm consulting them. Then back up at him.
"Attached to my arms," I confirm helpfully with a little nod, "both of them. Full set."
Behind him, one of the other guards exhales the exhale of someone questioning his career choices. I can’t find it in me to blame him; I’d be questioning my life choices as well. The alpha doesn't blink. His expression doesn't change in any way that could be measured, but there's a fractional something… not annoyance exactly. More like a person filing information.
"Put them forward."
"Oh," I say, like this clarifies everything, "you should've led with that." I extend my wrists.
Metal cuffs snap around them almost instantly. He moves fast, practiced, the motion of someone who has done this enough times that it doesn't require thought. Cold. Tight. Practical. Not punishing, just functional. There's a difference. I've felt both.
I wiggle them experimentally, testing the give.
None.
"Aw," I say, "bracelets. You shouldn't have."
"I really shouldn't have," he agrees, in a tone so flat it takes me a full second to parse whether that was actually a response or just a sound.
He grips my arm to guide me forward. His hand is warm through my sleeve, causing my body to shiver again involuntarily. Strong in a way that isn't fake, not squeezing to make a point, just holding because letting go isn't part of the plan. The grip of someone who expects to need it for the duration.
Something in my chest does a weird, small, completely unreasonable stutter.
Huh.
That's annoying.
I haven't had a physical response to an alpha in… I try to calculate it and come up against the static where time should be. A while. Long enough that I'd started to assume that particular wire had been cut by whatever cocktail they've been running through my bloodstream.
Apparently not.
"Okay, Zero," I murmur under my breath, low enough that it's not for anyone else.
"Let's not do anything stupid. It’s not the time for… all ofthat."
The alpha pauses. His dark eyes cut down to me, a slight narrowing, not alarm, just attention sharpening.
"Did you say something?"
I flash him a wide, guileless smile.
"Just talking to myself."
"That's not reassuring."
"Depends on who you ask," I explain with a shrug, "the ceiling finds me very reassuring. We've built a real rapport."
He studies me for another second with the expression of a person solving a problem they didn't expect to encounter. Dangerous or irritating. I can see him trying to categorize it, trying to find the slot this belongs in.
The answer is both. It has always been both. He doesn't say anything else. Just guides me forward, and I let him, because the math of the current situation doesn't favor anything else. Also, because his grip is warm, and I'm apparently accepting touch right now from an unknown Alpha.
The other guards fall in behind me. Cold tile meets my bare feet. The corridor lights buzz overhead at their usual frequency, slightly off from comfortable, designed by someone who either didn't know what resonance does to a person or absolutely did. The facility extends in both directions, identical and endless, a hallway built to convince you there's no way out.
I stopped finding that convincing around month four. Cells line the walls on both sides. I catch movement behind the glass as we pass. Other subjects watch through the observation windows with the various flavors of attention that develop after long enough in containment.
