Chapter 262
Later that evening, the world feels off-kilter. Like the lights are too bright, the floor too steady. My adrenaline’s gone, but the echo of the fight still thrums in my veins, coiled tight and restless. I should be dissecting data, replaying the battle frame-by-frame, but instead, I’m watching Wake stab a fork into a mountain of roasted potatoes like the world hasn’t just nearly cracked open.
We sit in the corner of the cafeteria—late-night quiet, fluorescent lighting, the faint hum of refrigeration units playing backup to the low murmur of a security broadcast overhead. The rest of the tables are empty, all the white-coat researchers and half-alert guards gone for the night, or avoiding us altogether. Can’t say I blame them. Wake still has dried blood on his collar.
He eats like someone who isn’t haunted. Methodical. Efficient. Not even flinching at the smear of monster ichor on his sleeve.
“How are you eating right now?” I ask, picking at the overcooked green beans on my tray. They squeak like rubber under my fork.
He doesn’t even look up. “Because being hungry won’t solve anything.”
I eye his plate. Meat, potatoes, steamed vegetables, even one of those ridiculous gelatin cups that jiggle when you breathe on them wrong. “Yeah, but like… digestion requires a degree of calm. And your brother’s science project just tried to rip us in half.”
He finally glances up at that. “Don’t remind me.”
“I’m just saying. My stomach still hasn’t unclenched since the eel sprouted legs.”
“Neither has mine,” he says. “But I’m not letting it win. That thing doesn’t get to steal my dinner.”
I snort. “That’s weirdly poetic.”
“Not poetic,” he says, stabbing a carrot. “Practical. If we’re going to keep doing this—surviving experimental abominations and cleaning up Shoal’s messes—I’ll need the calories.”
That sobered me a little. “You really think this was Shoal’s mess?”
Wake leans back slightly, fork in hand, frowning like he’s weighing every word. “No. Not entirely. I think I’m starting to realize it doesn’t matter who lit the fuse. Shoal, Lily... doesn’t change the explosion. Together, they’re a bad mix.”
I nod slowly. “They feed off each other. That ambition spiral? It’s like they’ve made a pact to ignore the line and just see how far they can push.”
“Worse,” he mutters, “they give each other permission to enable one another.”
“They’re also terrifyingly smart.”
Wake grunts. “Too smart. And too arrogant to know when to stop.”
We sit in silence for a beat. There’s a low clatter from the kitchen—someone doing dishes, probably—but it feels miles away. My fingers trace the edge of my tray, restless.
Wake shakes his head. “Those creatures were bad enough before they started mutating. But now? Now they’re walking on land, breathing air. Who knows what other laws of nature they’ll break before we figure out how to stop them.”
I chew on that for a second. Then ask, quietly, “Is that what you want? To stop them?”
He looks at me like the question itself is absurd. “Of course. What else would we be doing here?”
I shrug, lips tightening. “Even if their methods are… messy, the research has merit. You saw how fast those things evolved. If we can understand what’s causing it, theoretically, we could also figure out how to control it. We’d be able to determine the flow of progress and keep people like Lily and Shoal in check.”
He scowls. “That’s a slippery slope, Phoebe. And you know it. Knowledge for knowledge’s sake—that’s the trap. You’ve danced too close to that line already.”
I bristle. “Ethics aren’t black and white. Especially not in uncharted territory. You know that.”
“Do I?”
I fold my arms. “We’re standing in the middle of an active experiment. No oversight. No rules. But right now, we actually have the chance to influence what could become the standard. We could shape the future of all humans and Enkian-kind if we’re smart about it.”
He watches me carefully, chewing slowly. “You sound exactly like you did when I was the moral dilemma in question.”
I feel the hit in my chest.
“And we both know how that turned out,” he adds, setting his fork down.
“Oh, don’t patronize me,” I snap, heat rising behind my words. “I know I’ve made mistakes. I’ve blurred the lines. I’ve sympathized too much. But I’m not naïve. I’m not under any illusion that I can walk in there and talk them out of turning Enkian biology into their own weapons of mass destruction.”
“Then why defend it?”
“Because I get it,” I admit. “I see the appeal. The idea that maybe, just maybe, we can help bring your people into the future—into a world where you don’t have to live in hiding or fear or under someone’s control. It’s idealistic, yeah, but it depends on who’s spearheading it.”
Wake stares at me for a long time, unmoving. His eyes are unreadable—still ocean-deep, still deadly—but there's something softer at the edges, something troubled.
He doesn’t say anything. Just picks up his fork again and goes back to his dinner like nothing happened.
I narrow my eyes. “What aren’t you saying?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Finishes chewing. Swallows. Then leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table, voice low.
“I think there’s still too much we don’t know. About us. About our past. About why all of this is happening now.”
I feel my pulse skip.
Wake looks at me, gaze steady. “You think this is about building a better future? No. These aren’t growing pains. This isn’t evolution or progress.”
He leans in a little closer. “Everything that’s happening—these ‘coincidences,’ the way our people are being drawn closer and closer to the surface, the powers that be shifting, the experiments going wrong—it’s not the start of a new age.”
“What is it then?” I ask, almost whispering.
He looks at me like I already know. “It’s the end of one.”
His words hang in the air like a warning bell we can’t unring. And suddenly, the cafeteria feels too small, too crowded. Like the walls can’t contain the words my mate just spoke into being.
I glance at the door. At the hall beyond. Somewhere in this facility, Shoal and Lily are probably already moving on to the next phase of whatever-the-hell this is. Dissecting more anomalies, planning atrocities, drafting a world of their own design.
And Wake? He just picks up a piece of bread and tears it in half, calm as anything, like the world hasn’t already started coming apart at the seams.
“Eat,” he says, handing me the other half. “You’ll need the strength.”
I take it.
Because deep down, I know he’s right.
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