I wait for the feeling that should come with that. Relief? Grief? Something.
What comes is... nothing. A hollowness. My father built those facilities. My father ran those programs.
And now it’s gone. He’s gone. And I should be grieving. He was my dad. Whatever else he was, he was my dad. Now he’s dead, and I killed him.
But I can’t find the grief. I reach for it and there’s just… empty space. Maybe it’ll come later. Maybe it’ll hit me in a week or a month when I’m not expecting it, the way grief does.
Or maybe it won’t, because the man I thought I was grieving never existed. The father I loved was a story I told myself because I needed to survive. The real man underneath was someone who looked at his daughter and saw a petri dish.
I don’t know how to feel about any of this, and I’m so tired of not knowing.
“There’s something else,” Cole says. He glances at Declan again. Declan knew this was coming. “We had Doc look at Moore’s research. His notes, his data. The latest test results.” A pause. “What he did to you, Iris. The serum and infusions,and cellular changes. It’s permanent. Your DNA has been fundamentally altered. There’s no reversing it.”
The words settle into me like stones dropping into water. Permanent. The thing I volunteered for, the thing I endured all those nights for—it worked. Dad got what he wanted. My cells are rewritten. I’m not fully human anymore, and I never will be again.
I should feel something about that, too. I can’t find it.
“As for the bond,” Cole continues, and I feel Declan’s grip tighten on my hand, “the same applies. It can’t be undone. Our doctor confirmed it. What’s done is done.”
He says it gently. Like delivering bad news. Like the bond is a diagnosis, they’re all going to have to learn to live with.
I stare at the table. The wood grain blurs. I can feel everyone looking at me, the human girl who doesn’t belong here, who was injected with their blood and bonded to their brother by force and is now sitting at their kitchen table wearing their brother’s clothes. I’m the aftermath of their worst enemy’s greatest experiment, and now they’re stuck with me.
Unless they’re not when Declan decides the bond is a cage he didn’t choose, and I’m the reminder of everything Dad put them through. I wouldn’t blame him. I’d understand.
“I don’t want to reverse it.”
Declan’s voice, cutting through the noise in my head like a blade. I look at him. He’s not looking at Cole or Zeke, or anyone else. He’s looking at me.
“I don’t care how it started,” he says. “I don’t care what Moore intended. The bond is real. What I feel is real.” His thumb runs over my knuckles. “I want you to be my mate, Iris. Not because a collar forced it or a drug made it happen. Because I’m choosing it. Right now. I’m choosing you.”
The hollowness cracks. Just a little. It’s enough for something warm to leak through.
I don’t trust my voice, so I hold onto his hand and nod, and he nods back, and through the bond I feel something I haven’t felt from him before. Not protectiveness, not guilt. Peace. Small and new, but real.
The kitchen is very quiet.
I can’t help but look at Addison. She’s watching me from across the table. Those hazel eyes—I can see the damage in them. The years of it. She’s not looking at me with hatred or blame. She’s looking at me like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do.
“I’m sorry.” My voice comes out thin and weak. “For what my dad did to you. I didn’t know… I thought…” I stop. Take a breath. Start again. “I told myself the lies he told me because it was easier than asking questions. I should have asked. I should have looked harder. I’m sorry.”
Addison is quiet for a long time. Long enough that I start to think she’s not going to respond, and I wouldn’t blame her. Sorry is such a small word for what was done to her.
Then she reaches across the table and puts her hand over mine. Her fingers are thin, her grip is light, and she doesn’t say anything. She just holds on for a moment, and then she lets go.
It’s not forgiveness. I don’t think I’ve earned that, and I don’t know if it’s something I even need, since I didn’t cage her. I didn’t run the tests. But I crave it, anyway. Knowing she doesn’t hate me for who my father happened to be.
Zeke clears his throat. I brace for the anger. For the reminder that I’m Moore’s blood and nothing changes that. “You shot him,” he says flatly. “You picked up a gun and shot him.”
I flinch at the memory. “I?—”
“That took guts.” He unfolds his arms. His jaw is still tight, his eyes still hard. But something in his posture has changed. Not warm. Not welcoming. But not closed, either. “I’m not saying we’re good. But that took guts.”
I think that might be the most generous thing he’s capable of right now. I’ll take it.
It’s not a welcome party. It’s not open arms and warm embraces. It’s a kitchen full of people who’ve been through hell, making room for one more person who’s been through it with them. It’s messy and uncertain. Full of things that haven’t been resolved yet.
But Declan’s hand is in mine, and the bond is humming between us, and for the first time since I climbed out of Dad’s truck three nights ago with a strange scent in the air and a feeling I couldn’t name, I think I might be somewhere I belong.
