Untitled Episode
940 Words
CHAPTER 3
THE TASTE OF IRON
The laboratory smelled like iron and smoke.
Long tables were lined with glass vials, metal instruments, and half-scribbled notes. The air hummed faintly machines breathing in the shadows, alive with energy.
Layla stood in the doorway, her hands clasped behind her back, trying to look harmless while every instinct inside her screamed to run.
Ayinder Volos glanced up from a microscope. Her silver hair glowed faintly under the lamplight, and her expression was as unreadable as ever.
“Come in,” she said. “Close the door.”
Layla obeyed. The sound of the latch clicking shut made her stomach twist.
Ayinder studied her for a long moment. “You look less frightened than most who come through that door.”
Layla forced a small, nervous smile. “I’m just trying not to make things worse.”
“Good answer.” Ayinder gestured toward a stool. “Sit.”
Layla did. Her eyes darted to the table beside her small vials of deep red liquid, labeled only with numbers. Wolfblood. She recognized the scent instantly; it was faint but distinct, like copper and lightning.
Ayinder noticed her glance. “Do you know what that is?”
Layla shook her head, feigning curiosity. “It looks like blood.”
“It is,” Ayinder said softly. “But not just any kind. It carries strength, speed, healing traits the world would kill to control. We’re close to understanding how it works.”
Layla’s pulse quickened. “And what happens when you understand?”
Ayinder smiled thinly. “Then we decide who deserves it.”
She picked up a vial and held it to the light. “Jugo says you were found in the forest, unarmed, half dead. That makes me wonder what were you doing there?”
“I told Mara,” Layla said carefully, “I was just trying to get home.”
“And where is home?”
Layla hesitated. “It was a small village. South of the ridges. It doesn’t exist anymore.”
Ayinder studied her for a long, silent stretch. Then she turned away, setting the vial down. “Pain leaves traces, you know. In your eyes. Your posture. Even the way you lie. You’ve lost something.”
Layla swallowed hard. “Haven’t we all?”
The older woman chuckled quietly. “True.” She gestured to a small tray beside her. “Give me your arm.”
Layla hesitated, then rolled up her sleeve. A needle slid into her skin with practiced ease.
When Ayinder withdrew it, she collected the vial of Layla’s blood and examined it under the lamp. Her brows lifted slightly.
“Interesting.”
Layla fought to keep her voice steady. “What is?”
“Your blood carries something unusual. Faint, but… not ordinary.”
Her heart lurched. Did she sense it? Could she tell what I am?
Ayinder’s expression softened, as if sensing her fear. “Relax. You’re not in danger. Not yet.”
That yet landed like a stone in Layla’s chest.
The door creaked open then, breaking the tension.
Jugo stepped in, his expression tight. “You called for me?”
“Yes.” Ayinder capped the vial and handed it to him. “Take this to storage. I’ll analyze it later.”
He nodded, glancing briefly at Layla before leaving. For a moment, his hand brushed hers as he took the vial. It was accidental or maybe not. Warm. Solid. Real.
She flinched, more from the jolt inside her than the touch.
Ayinder pretended not to notice, but a faint smile curved her lips. “You two make an interesting picture,” she murmured. “The soldier and the stray.”
Layla’s cheeks burned. “It’s not like that.”
“Of course not,” Ayinder said smoothly. “Not yet.”
That evening, back in her quarters, Layla couldn’t stop thinking about the lab. About Ayinder’s calm precision. About the way Jugo’s touch had lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
She stood by the window, staring at the forest beyond the Syndicate walls. Somewhere out there, her people’s ashes rested beneath the roots. And here she was pretending to be one of their captors.
When a soft knock came at her door, she tensed.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,” Jugo’s voice said.
She hesitated, then opened the door. He stood there, still in his black uniform, holding a small tin plate.
“You didn’t eat,” he said simply, setting it on the table. “The cook asked me to bring this before it goes cold.”
Layla crossed her arms. “Do you always do errands for the kitchen?”
He smirked faintly. “Only when the kitchen forgets who they’re feeding.”
She looked at the food, then at him. “You don’t have to pretend to care.”
“I’m not pretending.”
Something in his tone made her chest tighten.
He turned to leave, but she stopped him. “Jugo… why did you spare me that night?”
He paused, his back still to her. For a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then he said quietly, “Because you didn’t look at me like I was a monster.”
And before she could say anything else, he was gone.
Layla stood in the silence he left behind, her heart thudding in her chest.
For the first time since the ambush, she felt something she didn’t expect.
Not safety.
Not peace.
But the smallest crack in her hatred and she didn’t know if that terrified her more than anything else.
- Writer
