Primal Instinct

7– PAINS

By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, the office was starting to thin out. People logged off, said quiet goodbyes, and drifted toward the elevators. Freight Tech wasn’t one of those places that pretended work-life balance was a thing. It just had people who knew when to be ghosts and when to be present.

It was after six when I finally logged my last note, shot off my last email, and sat back in my chair. My brain buzzed. My body did, too. I checked the tablet. No new flags from his inbox. No last-minute calendar additions. I’d survived day one.

I turned off my monitors, gathered my things, and glanced toward his office. The door was mostly closed, just a sliver of space open. Light spilled through it, warm and muted. I should’ve just gone.

Instead, I raised my hand and gave one soft knock.

Come in,” came the reply, that same deep, composed tone that carried more weight than it should have.

He was standing at the window again, jacket off this time. The mountains outside were nothing but black silhouettes and dying light, the faint reflection of his outline framed against the glass.

“You’re still here,” he said, not turning.

“Wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything else you needed before I left.”

He finally looked at me, eyes catching the light — not brown, not silver, just dark enough to see everything I didn’t want him to.

“Do I look like a man who needs reminders?”

“No,” I said. “Just trying to do my job.”

He hummed under his breath, something low and amused. “You’re eager. That’s good. Don’t confuse it with useful.”

My jaw tightened. “Noted.”

He then moved slow, deliberate steps until he was close enough that the air around me felt heavier. He smelled like cedar and smoke and something colder underneath it, like metal.

“Do you always seek approval, Ms. Carter?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You knock for permission to breathe, you wait for praise before you move. You think that earns you safety.” He tilted his head slightly, studying me like he was dissecting a problem. “It doesn’t.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t need safety. I need clarity.”

His mouth curved, but it wasn’t kind. “Clarity,” he repeated softly. “Here’s clarity, I am not your mentor. I don’t reassure. I don’t care if you feel comfortable. You work. You adapt. You survive. Anything else gets eaten alive in this building.”

The words were a punch wrapped in velvet. I should’ve hated him for it, but part of me, that traitorous, ridiculous part, felt a shiver run through my stomach at the sound of being eaten alive.

“I understand,” I managed.

“I doubt that,” he murmured. His gaze dropped briefly, lingering a moment too long. “You look like you bruise easily.”

I took a step back, pulse hammering. “Is there anything else, Mr. Steele?”

“Dismissed,” he said simply, turning back to the window. “Before you start mistaking my attention for tolerance.”

That one stung more than it should’ve. I left before he could see it.

The elevator doors closed with a quiet hiss. My reflection in the mirrored walls looked flushed and tired. Angry. Something else I didn’t want to name. By the time I drove down the mountain to the estate, the ache in my chest had settled into a dull, inexplicable tension. I told myself it was adrenaline. Exhaustion. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Dinner didn’t help. Neither did the shower. It was sometime after midnight when the first wave hit. A sharp, sudden pain tore through my chest, stealing my breath. I folded over, gasping.

“What the hell—”

It felt like something inside me had been ripped open like a wire pulled too tight. I literally felt a heartbeat that wasn’t mine pounding inside my ribs. My body burned from the inside out, every nerve lighting up. I staggered to the bed, clutching at my sternum. My pulse thundered too fast, too hard. Images flashed across my mind of heat, motion, breath against skin. None of it was mine, but I could feel it.

I pressed my hands to my ears. “Stop. Please, stop.” The pain only deepened, sharp and electric. Sweat rolled down my back, my temples, my thighs. I couldn’t catch my breath. It wasn’t panic. It was a connection both wrong and foreign.

I made it halfway to the bathroom before my knees buckled. Another wave of pain slammed through me. I cried out, clutching the sink, chest heaving. Then the knocking.

“Nahiry?” Lyric’s voice, muffled but close.

“I’m fine!” I lied, my voice breaking.

The handle clicked, and the door eased open. Lyric stepped in, silk robe trailing, hair pulled into a loose braid. She froze when she saw me, her face tightening with something that looked too close to recognition.

“Panic attack,” I choked out. “Or maybe food poisoning—”

“Shh.” Lyric crouched beside me, eyes scanning my face, my hands, the sheen of sweat across my skin. “You’re burning up.”

“I feel like I’m dying.”

“You’re not.” Her tone was gentle, but there was something else underneath it — something she wasn’t saying. “You just… need to cool down.” She pulled out her phone and pressed a quick call. “Damien, I need a tonic. Now. Bring the one with the silverleaf base.”

A muffled voice answered on the other end. Lyric hung up and turned back to me.

“It’s the altitude,” she said softly. “The air here can do strange things to people at first. You’ll acclimate.”

I shook my head, trembling. “This isn't the altitude. It’s like—” My throat closed around the words. “It’s like something’s wrong inside me.”

Lyric’s expression faltered for just a second. Then she smiled — too quickly. “You’re exhausted. First days always hit hard.”

Another knock. Damien entered quietly, carrying a glass that shimmered faintly under the light. His eyes landed on me, then flicked to Lyric, worry tightening his jaw.

“Here,” Lyric said, taking it from him and handing it to me. “Drink.”

The liquid was cool, almost glowing faintly pink. I didn’t question it. I drank. The taste was strange, a cold, herbal, metallic flavor. It slid down my throat like frost and spread outward, cooling the fire inch by inch. Relief washed through me, but the ache lingered — faint, throbbing, deep in my chest.

Lyric brushed damp curls from my forehead. “Better?”

I nodded weakly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“Good.” She exhaled, her hand lingering a moment longer than comfort required. “You’ll feel normal by morning.”

I didn’t miss the look she exchanged with Damien. It was quick, tense and most of all heavy with things unsaid. As they stepped aside, I caught their voices, low but distinct enough to hear.

“You don’t think she’s—” Damien started.

“No,” Lyric cut in fast. “She’s human. There isn’t a way can be someone’s ma-.”

“Then what was that?”

“I don’t know.” A pause. “We’ll look into it. I’ll ask my mother.”

Their words blurred as the pain faded to nothing, gone as suddenly as it came. My body sagged, drained. My vision tunneled, the room spinning softly.

Lyric turned back just as my knees buckled again. “Hey—hey, easy.”

“I’m fine, seriously. I just need to-” I murmured, even as exhaustion dragged me under.

“No,” Lyric said gently. “You’re done for tonight.”

Between the two of them, they got me into bed. I barely registered the sheets, the pillow, the sound of their footsteps fading. The last thing I remembered was Lyric’s voice, quiet and worried, somewhere near the door.

“Nothing in this town happens without reason.”

When I finally closed my eyes, the pain was gone but something else pulsed faintly beneath my skin, steady and foreign, still repetitive like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to me. And somewhere high above, in that glass-walled office overlooking the valley, I could’ve sworn the mountains themselves exhaled.