A soft knock at the door startled Theron out of his thoughts. He barely had time to sit up straighter when Lirien entered, her sharp green eyes scanning him with concern. Her long, loose braid swayed as she carried a tray laden with warm soup, crusty bread, and a steaming cup of tea.
"I thought you might need this," she said, her voice gentle yet firm. She set the tray on the small table beside his bed, her movements purposeful. "Did you sleep well?"
Theron forced a smile, though the ache in his chest betrayed him. "Thanks, Lirien. I slept… alright."
Her gaze lingered on him, unconvinced. Sitting down on the chair beside him, she sighed. "Eat this, Theron. You've barely touched food in days, and you look like you're running on fumes. We're all worried about you."
Her words struck a chord of guilt and warmth, but he waved her concern away. "I'm fine, really. I just got… caught up in a project."
"Caught up or not, you're eating," she said firmly, folding her arms. "And don't think I won't sit here and watch until you finish every bite."
Theron chuckled nervously, picking up the spoon. As he took a small sip of the soup, Lirien leaned forward, her tone softening. "We called Kael, you know. To let him know what's going on."
The spoon clattered against the bowl, and his heart skipped a beat. "You… what?" His voice came out more strangled than he intended.
"We called Kael," she repeated, her tone casual. "He said he'd come as soon as he could. Honestly, I've never heard him sound so worried."
Theron's stomach plummeted. His thoughts raced as he plastered on a tight smile. "Oh. That's… great. Thanks for letting him know."
Lirien smiled, unaware of his rising panic. "It's what friends do, Theron. He cares about you. We all do."
He nodded, biting into the bread mechanically. Inside, his mind screamed, Kael is coming. Kael is coming. What do I do?
Lirien, thankfully oblivious to his internal chaos, waited until he'd eaten most of the soup and sipped the tea. "You need to take better care of yourself," she said, her voice gentle but insistent. "Whatever you're working on, it's not worth running yourself into the ground. And… I don't know why you've been crying, but whenever you're ready to talk, I'll be here. We all will."
Theron's throat tightened. "Thank you, Lirien," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Good." She stood, smoothing out her skirt. "But don't think you're off the hook. Skip another meal, and I'll drag you to the dining hall myself."
He mustered a weak laugh as she left the room, closing the door behind her.
The second she was gone, his composure crumbled. He leapt to his feet, pacing the room in frantic circles. "Kael is coming? Kael is coming? What do I do, Rex?"
The soft glow of Rex's interface flickered on. "Clarification requested: Nature of the dilemma regarding Kael's impending arrival?"
Theron froze, running his hands through his hair. "What do you mean, nature of the dilemma? He can't find out about the serum! He can't even suspect anything! If he gets so much as a hint—"
"Probability of Kael discovering Project: Bond Nullifier without direct disclosure: statistically low," Rex interrupted calmly. "Recommended action: Remain composed. Do not deviate from typical behavior."
"Remain composed?" Theron's voice cracked as he gestured wildly. "You want me to act normal when my best friend is on his way here, and I've just created a serum to hide the mate bond from him?"
"Correct," Rex replied with mechanical precision. "Emotional outbursts increase the likelihood of detection. Suggestion: Engage in calming activities to regulate stress or disclose your identity as his mate."
Theron groaned, collapsing onto the bed. "Calming activities. Right. Because that's going to work when Kael's about to show up, and I'm sitting on the biggest secret of my life!" He buried his face in his hands. "He wants a female mate, Rex. He's always wanted one. He's a lycan prince. He needs heirs—which I can't give him. He'll be disgusted. He'll hate me."
"Alternate suggestion: Practice plausible deniability," Rex offered helpfully.
Theron glared at the AI. "Rex, I don't think you understand the pressure I'm under."
"Statement: I am equipped to monitor your vitals and provide actionable solutions," Rex replied. "Human emotions, however, remain outside my programming."
Theron groaned again, lying flat on the bed. For a moment, the room was silent, save for the faint hum of Rex's systems. Then, in a quieter voice, Theron whispered, "What if he knows? What if he can sense something's wrong?"
"Hypothesis: Kael will not sense the bond unless it has been triggered. Current conditions suggest otherwise. Probability of successful concealment remains high," Rex assured.
Theron exhaled shakily, forcing himself to sit up. "Okay. Okay. I just have to keep it together. Pretend everything's normal."
"Affirmative," Rex said. "Directive: Remain composed. Engage in routine behaviors. Outcome: Decreased suspicion."
Theron nodded, but the knot in his stomach refused to loosen. Easier said than done, he thought grimly.
He paced the room, his mind spinning as Rex's words echoed in his head. Remain composed. Engage in routine behaviors. But there was nothing routine about this situation. His fingers itched to do something—anything—that might give him an edge before Kael arrived.
He glanced at the serum vial sitting innocuously on his desk, its faintly glowing liquid taunting him. It was supposed to work. It had to work. He'd poured everything into it—every calculation, every ounce of logic, every desperate hope.
"Rex," he said, his voice trembling slightly, "I need to test it."
Rex's eyes glowed faintly as the AI processed his words. "Statement: Testing Project: Bond Nullifier on yourself is highly inadvisable. Potential side effects include—"
"I know the risks," Theron snapped, his voice sharp. "But Kael will be here soon, and I can't—" He cut himself off, taking a shaky breath. "I can't let him find out. If this doesn't work—if there's something wrong with it—I need to know now."
"Recommendation: Conduct further simulations instead of self-administration. Probability of adverse reactions: significant."
Theron shook his head. "There's no time for simulations. It's now or never, Rex."
The AI hesitated, its tone unusually measured. "Directive: Proceed with caution. Vital signs will be monitored closely. Please reconsider."
Theron ignored the warning, grabbing the syringe and drawing the serum into it with steady hands. He pressed the needle to his arm, hesitating for only a moment before pushing it in and injecting the glowing liquid.
At first, nothing happened. He exhaled slowly, placing the syringe on the table. "See? No big deal."
Then the pain hit.
It was as if his entire body had caught fire from the inside out. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as a scream tore from his throat. His vision blurred, the room spinning violently.
"Warning: Severe fluctuations in heart rate and neural activity detected," Rex said, its tone sharp with alarm. "Administering emergency protocols."
Theron collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. His bones felt like they were stretching, shifting, breaking. His hands hit the floor, and he watched in horror as his fingers elongated, his once-small hands now broad and unfamiliar.
"Theron!" Rex's voice was louder now, the AI's usual calm replaced with urgency. "Severe anomalies detected. Terminate experiment immediately!"
"I—can't—" Theron choked out, his voice deeper than he'd ever heard it. He fell forward, his vision going black for a moment before a wave of clarity hit him.
When he opened his eyes, the pain was gone. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his hands trembling. Something felt… off. The room seemed smaller, the furniture oddly proportioned.
"Theron," Rex said cautiously, its voice laced with worry. "You… appear to have shifted."
"Shifted?" Theron's voice was almost unrecognizable—deeper, steadier. He looked down at his hands, now large and strong, and realization hit him like a freight train.
Standing unsteadily, he made his way to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. His reflection stared back at him, but it wasn't the Theron he was used to.
Standing at just under six feet tall, he barely recognized himself. His limbs were longer, his frame broader, his features sharper. He reached up to touch his face, his hand trembling as it brushed against his cheek.
He stopped, staring at his reflection. "I liked it better when I was small."
Rex's voice cut through his thoughts. "Observation: Your current form appears stable, but this shift was neither intentional nor controlled. Hypothesis: The serum has triggered an unforeseen reaction in your physiology."
Theron took a shaky step back from the mirror, his mind racing. "I haven't shifted like this in years. I barely even know how to control it anymore."
"Recommendation: Avoid further strain until more data is collected," Rex said, its tone cautious. "Current state is unpredictable. Side effects may persist."
Theron nodded, swallowing hard. He turned back to the desk, his eyes landing on the now-empty syringe. The serum had worked—just not the way he'd intended.
"Rex," he said quietly, his voice steadier now. "We need to figure out exactly what this serum does. And fast."
"Affirmative," Rex replied. "Directive: Prioritize stabilization and analysis. Secondary directive: Prepare for Kael's imminent arrival."
Theron's heart sank at the reminder. Kael was still coming, and now he had an even bigger secret to hide.
Shit! What have I done?