Chapter 6
Siena couldn’t scream.
Her throat was too dry, her body too heavy.
The tub had been drained. The blood washed away. But the silence—the awful, ringing silence—still clung to her skin like grease. She didn’t know how long it had been since the girl slit her wrist in the water. Minutes? Hours? Days?
They had come for her before Siena could do anything. Two more women in white, calm and efficient. They pulled the girl’s limp body out of the water like it was routine, like it wasn’t the most horrific thing Siena had ever seen.
No one looked surprised and no one even said her name.
Siena was lifted from the tub, wrapped in towels, and carried back through pale corridors that whispered with quiet footsteps and humming vents. Her limbs refused to work. The drug hadn’t worn off, just curled deeper into her muscles, like it wanted to become part of her.
They brought her to another room, this one wasn’t white.
It was silver.
Metallic walls, glass cabinets, a leather chair in the center like something out of a dentist’s office but worse. There were restraints, overheard lights and a camera tucked just into the corner, blinking red.
Siena tried to fight, her fingers clawed uselessly at the arms of the woman holding her. She tried to scream, but only a rasp came out.
Then a voice cut through the cold.
Male, Steady.
“You’re right on time.”
Damien.
He stepped into view, dressed in a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled, cuffs dusted with flour—as if he’d just stepped away from baking bread instead of orchestrating whatever this was.
“Don’t do this,” Siena croaked.
“I’m not doing anything to you,” he said calmly. “I’m simply helping you remember who you were always meant to be.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t choose this.”
He crouched beside her chair, leveling his gaze with hers. “No one chooses the truth, Siena, they either embrace it or run from it. You’ve been running your whole life.”
“I want to go home.”
“You are home.”
He stood again and nodded toward someone behind her. Siena couldn’t turn her head, but she heard the cabinet open. The clink of metal, the shuffle of gloves.
“This is the first step,” Damien said, moving out of view. “We call it the Rebirth Protocol. It’s nothing invasive. Just… clarity.”
A scent filled the room, chemical and sharp. Siena’s body jerked against the restraints, adrenaline kicking in late.
“I don’t want this…”
“You will,” he said softly. “Soon.”
A mask was lowered over her nose and mouth.
The last thing she saw before darkness smothered her was the red blink of the camera
It was recording everything.
She woke up in a different room.
No chair, no restraints, just a mirror.
This time, it was real.
And when she looked into it, she didn’t recognize herself.
Her hair had been trimmed, evened into soft, cascading waves. Her skin was clean, too clean, like every blemish or scar had been buffed out of existence, her eyebrows had been shaped, her lips glossed.
She looked… perfect.
Manufactured, like a doll in a store window.
A soft knock tapped against the other side of the room, then the door opened and a woman entered.
Older than the ones before, mid-thirties, maybe. Immaculate, red hair twisted into a sleek chignon. She wore a deep gray suit that screamed power, but it was her eyes that unsettled Siena most—sharp, intelligent, and disturbingly kind.
“Good morning,” she said. “I’m Doctor Elira Melbourne.”
Siena flinched at the name. “Melbourne?”
The woman’s lips twitched. “Coincidence, I’m sure.”
She came closer, motioned for Siena to sit.
Siena didn’t move.
Elira didn’t press. “Today marks Day One of your Rebirth. You’ve been selected because you possess the necessary emotional and physiological profile for reconditioning, high empathy, high trauma tolerance, disassociative leanings, and beautiful bone structure. All markers of a successful subject.”
“I’m not a subject,” Siena whispered.
“You are now.”
Siena stood, her legs were steadier this time. She backed toward the corner. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Elira sighed, like she was tired of explaining to confused children. “Because you were chosen, because Damien believes you can become something… more.”
“I’m not a project.”
“No,” Elira said softly. “You’re a legacy.”
The word made her skin crawl.
Another woman entered, this one with a tray.
Syringes, vials, and a silver case.
Siena pressed against the wall, her breath coming fast.
Elira didn’t flinch. “These are hormone modulators. Vitamin injections, nothing harmful. Just… enhancements. To prepare your body for optimal balance, physical obedience begins with internal equilibrium.”
“You’re insane,” Siena hissed.
Elira smiled. “Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. This? This is precision.”
She nodded to the nurse.
Siena screamed, she fought.
But the needle sank in anyway.
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she opened her eyes again, the world had shifted.
Not physically, lInternally.
Something felt wrong in her chest. Like the compass that pointed toward herself had cracked and begun turning in circles.
The room was dim and warm, and a tray of food waited beside her.
Chicken, Rice, Steamed greens, and Water.
She was starving but she didn’t want to eat it. Didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.
But her hands moved anyway, as if part of her had already started to obey.
That night, the screen lit up again.
Damien’s face appeared, only this time, he wasn’t smiling.
“There’s been a security breach,” he said.
Siena sat up.
“A man was spotted near the cliffs. He left behind a surveillance device.” Damien’s eyes darkened. “Do you know anyone who might come looking for you, Siena?”
She swallowed hard, a name floated up like smoke.
Alec.
But she said nothing.
Damien studied her face for a long time, then his tone shifted. “If he comes for you, he will suffer.”
Siena’s heart twisted.
“And if you try to help him…” Damien leaned closer, voice quiet and final.
“I’ll make sure he never finds you at all.”
The screen went black.