Nick let out a shaky sigh once he had hung up the phone, obsessively running his fingers through his hair over and over.

His mind felt as if it was on overdrive, trying to conjure up some sort of a plan that he could use to escape this quagmire that he had become entangled in. But more and more, in the midst of his anxious thoughts, one certainty was remembered. If he knew anything about the way that Mr. Black and his associates worked, he knew that they hated uncertainty and that when they saw weakness, such as Trista's twisted ankle, they immediately and without hesitation carried out the desires of Mr. Black.

A hard, resolute determination welled and gathered itself inside of him. He knew what he must do.

He glanced at Evelyn, her little eyes closed, childish lips parted, asleep on the crook of Laura's elbow.

He slipped his golden ring off his finger and rubbed his thumb across the surface, looking at the clear way it caught the moonlight, bright with sacred promises and stored-up dreams, formed from innocence and passion. All of the things that were lost to him now. But he had one more promise left to give. He gently opened Evelyn's hand, and pressed the ring into her palm, closing it into a fist. He kissed his niece's bronze curls. Oh, God, please. Don't let them hurt her . . .

Nick turned and began to make his way into the forest, following a game trail that had parted the grass like a comb.

The rustle of leaves from behind him caused him to look back once more, but he saw nothing, only the small, red flicker of the campfire between the trees.

He continued on, feeling the same movement of something like fire inside his chest that lifted him up and pushed him forward. It made him think of Laura and Neo, the decent and brave couple that had gathered food and water for all of them, ever comforting Trista, August, and Evelyn, and often surrendering their share of food so that they could have enough. Of Evelyn, and her sweet affection for him and the world around her. For Christie. His friend. His comforter. His bride.

He could not, and would not condemn his beloved and his friends to torturous deaths under a nefarious dictator. He would rather die than do that.

Perhaps he would see Christie soon. Nick began running.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The agent that Nick had been on the phone with told Mr. Black all about the conversation.

"Yes, Mr. Elliott seems to be complying very prudently. I am sure you struck an excellent bargain with him?"

Ignoring the latter comment, Mr. Black replied, "How are they progressing?"

"They are headed west, towards the hills. Neo's daughter has sprained her ankle, so the ambush, I believe, will be easier than expected."

Mr. Black's eyebrows lifted for a moment in surprise, but his usual steely glare replaced it. "And have you been tracking his location?"

"Yes, sir. They are moving West, even as we speak."

"Excellent. Send soldiers immediately."

The man exited Mr. Black's office and started to execute the command. Mr. Black settled in his chair and paused for a moment.

"So . . . Neo has a daughter," he chuckled scornfully to himself. "Why am I surprised? Of course, that stupid little butterfly would want to have children, not even wondering how deeply the serum would affect their DNA. I wonder if they've realized by now she is even more powerful than they are."

His eyes glinted like dark crystals. "Well, perhaps she won't be waste of time like her parents. She is, after all, my granddaughter, and she may have a number of capabilities. Perhaps if I ask her, she will be wiser and less stubborn than her father once was."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In her mind, Trista was watching silent horror.

Like flashes of lightning, Trista glimpsed children being stuffed into wire cages, tears streaming down their faces, the muffled screams of injustice when they were forced into the experimentation rooms her parents had described to her. Over and over, their pain and anguish of the realization that they were no longer human replayed in agonizing detail.

Then she was locked in a cage herself, glimpsing the black, blocky symbol of the Facility, and a sneering, dark-haired man peering into her cage that she couldn't quite place.

"Ah, now, now, my Trista. No need to mar your lovely face," He smirked at her, an awful, knowing expression filling his face.

She gasped in fright and recoiled in her cage, only then realizing that her face felt cold and wet from tears. My Trista?

"Nothing is going to happen," he continued, "to you."

A darkness as cold as his gaze gathered at every side, enveloped her, and she knew no more.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the darkness, August turned and sighed in a fitful sleep.

He was frantic, rushing through a cold, vacant hallway, only stopping to tear open any door he came across, only to find empty rooms with tables and surgical equipment strewn across the floor, or occasionally, a lone child. Fear clawed at his lungs, making it impossible to swallow, think, or stop for a moment. He slammed yet another heavy iron door and tore into the darkness ahead, desperate as the dread mounted. He had to find her.

He had just begun to heave open a door in a corridor to his left when he heard a whimper in the opposite hall. He turned, and it grew into a high, frightened shriek, cut short by a sob, that nearly made his heart stop.

"Trista!" He cried, running into the hallway. He could feel her terror close by, and it led him to her door. He flung it open, and found a dimly lit room with hundreds of wire cages on the cold cement floor, all empty but one, and Trista, standing in front of it, key in hand.

Contrary to what he had just heard, Trista's face was free of fear and physical pain, but instead seemed filled with remorse and grief.

Glancing in the cage, August could make out a dark colored dog, shrinking away in fear from the cage's other inhabitant, a dark gray wolf, that paced in front of the cage's entrance. August could see the glare of the light in his bright black eyes and cruel, bared teeth.

Sometimes, the wolf would turn back and look at the dog, as if daring him to challenge his authority, and the dog would defiantly stare back, unmoving, until the wolf growled and lunged at the dog. The dog already had several bite marks and long scratches on his face and chest, and appeared too weak to do much when the wolf provoked him.

"Are you okay, Trista?" August took her cold hand, and it trembled in his. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Tears filled her eyes as she looked at him. "It's all my fault," she said, pointing at the dog, whose eyes were pitifully begging Trista through the bars. "I can't get him out."

He looked at her other hand, clenched by her side in a white fist. "But . . ."

"Yes, the key." She said, opening her hand and examining it. "But August, what will happen if I open it?" Her voice rose in fear, and the wolf's eyes gleamed as he paced, nails clicking on the hard floor, teeth set in a wicked smile.

August saw and shuddered from a sudden chill. If she released the dog, the wolf would be free as well.

She pulled her hand from August's and showed it to him. Her arm was covered, from her elbow to her fingertips, with gray and white hairs that shone underneath the fluorescent light, growing on her arm. Now, he also noticed that her face was streaked with gray.

Her eyes fixed on him and took on an unnatural, cold light. August, alarmed, took a step back, but Trista had already gripped his arm, and her nails dug into his skin. Yet her voice said in a pleading tone,

"Will I become the wolf?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hello, my Hybrids! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! You guys are amazing and I want to thank you so much for being patient. I look forward to writing more, and talking to y'all.
Love, ♡
_pure_imagination_