My fingers sifted through the scattered pages, picking up where I left off at the lab, piecing together Dr. Marelli’s entries and research.

“Any luck with the flash drive?” I glanced up at Erebus across their desk.

“I’m working on it,” they said, barely sparing me a look before refocusing on their screen.

Atash had convinced the higher-ups to let me see Wren—an asset was still an asset, even if I wasn’t human anymore. But first, I needed answers.

Both Project Genesis and Project Songbird fixated on two test subjects: 32 and 37. Their DNA carried a mutation—one that made them the first viable candidates for Compound-Genesis. It worked, for the most part. The side effect? Vampirism of course. The researchers managed to refine the compound, stabilize it enough for distribution by exploiting that mutation—producing the Genesis Serum. 

Then they moved onto experimenting for Compound-SB on 32 and 37. But when they introduced it to 32 and 37, something wasn’t right. It synchronized perfectly with their hormones but they couldn’t turn SB into something scalable, something that could be mass-produced.

Good news for Bulwark. Until I found the next passages.

Test Subject 32’s bite produced the compound—the Songbird Serum.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temple as I flipped through more pages. Maybe that’s what happened to Wren. Maybe she was nothing more than a fresh blood bag for 32—one they accidentally turned.

“Sato.” Erebus’ voice cut through my thoughts. “Look at this.” They turned the screen toward me.

I leaned in, scanning the document.

[Subject 37. Female. Age: Nineteen. Name: Wren M…]

Marelli.

My breath hitched. Marelli.

I glanced at Erebus. “Is she his daughter?”

“I don’t know,” they said. “But we need you to find out.” Their tone stayed neutral, but their gaze was sharp. “She entered testing fifteen years ago—around the same time his family supposedly died in that plane crash.”

My fingers curled against the journal, the leather bending. If this was the same Wren, then she should be in her late thirties, early forties. 

Elias Marelli was already a monster—the monster behind Genesis. But this? If what we were thinking was true, this was something else entirely.

The door clicked shut behind me. I barely glanced at the two-way mirror, knowing Erebus and a handful of Bulwark’s directors were watching from the other side. The room was larger than the one they had placed me in—an interrogation space, repurposed for Wren.

At its center stood a glass containment unit, a near replica of the one in IDUN’s lab. Everything else had been cleared out except for some items inside—a cot, blanket, pillow, books, and art supplies. A small price for whatever information she had given them.

She sat cross-legged on the cot, a book open in her lap. “Sireling,” she greeted, not bothering to look up.

“You knew you could sire?” I stepped closer to the glass.

“Of course.” She turned a page. “You are not the first. Just the only one I haven’t killed.”

“So we can be killed?”

“All things that live can die.” She finally shut the book and stood, approaching with slow, deliberate steps. Her head tilted, feline in its curiosity, as her gaze studied me. “Why are you here, Kieran? Did they think I’d only speak to another vampire?”

“Well, you are talking, aren’t you?” I slid a printed document against the glass, IDUN’s subject profile. “This is you. Subject 37. One of the first successful trials of Project Genesis. Wren Marelli.”

“That is correct.”

“Dr. Elias Marelli—is he your father?”

Her gaze lifted to mine once more, calm and unflinching. “That is also correct.”

The confirmation settled like a rock in my stomach. “Do you realize everyone thinks you’re dead? They think you are all dead. Where is the rest of your family?”

“Do you know how many people died perfecting Genesis? My father had difficulty finding willing volunteers.”

“And did you volunteer?”

Instead of answering, she studied me. “How do you like your new form?”

I exhaled sharply. “Well, let’s just say I stick out as much as my ears, and I never realized how much I’d miss being unremarkable.”

“You are my sireling. You can change your appearance to walk among humans.” Her form shifted before my eyes—back to the one I had first seen in the lab, humanlike.

“How?”

It wasn’t that I hated what I had become, but the way the others looked at me—the silent scrutiny, the barely concealed distrust. I felt like an exhibit. A spectacle. Even if they let me walk out of Bulwark’s headquarters, what then? Was I supposed to disappear into the vampire territories for the rest of my long, unnatural life? But if I could blend, if I could pass… would they let me stay?

No. That would only make me more dangerous. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. A bigger reason to keep me locked away with her.

“Close your eyes,” Wren instructed. “Focus. You need to be hyperaware of your body, your own appearance.”

“So basically, relive all my high school insecurities.” I muttered, but I did as she said.

“The mind is powerful. If you focus, you can manipulate perception. Remember your human self.”

I did. Every moment spent scrutinizing my reflection, picking apart features I liked and the ones I didn’t. The way my skin looked under different lighting. The way my hands used to look.

“Open your eyes.”

I looked down. The inky darkness on my fingertips  and the claws gone. I turned to the mirror behind me. I looked human. No pointed ears, no fangs, and color returned to my irises.

“Can I look however I want?” I asked, my fingers tracing over my face.

“No. Or at least, not that I’ve discovered.”

It was an adaptation. Evolution. Compound-SB hadn’t just altered vampires to withstand sunlight—it had made them invisible. Camouflaged. Able to move undetected among humans.

It was terrifying.

It was fascinating.

“Kieran.” Wren’s voice cut through my thoughts. “I’ve lived in cages like this before. Been poked, prodded, watched, and analyzed for years. So tell me—what does Bulwark plan to do with me?”

I exhaled. “We were tasked with procuring a sample of Compound-SB to develop a countermeasure. But now that we know the serum lives in you, that it can only be distributed through you—”

“You plan to keep me here forever.” She cut me off, her tone even.

“It’s for the safety of humanity. If IDUN gets their hands on you again, there won’t be a humanity left to protect. We can’t stop Songbird vampires.”

“Your plan will fail.” She gestured toward the journals tucked under my arm. “You seem to have forgotten—I’m not the only Songbird.”

A chill crept down my spine. There’s another? But that lab only had her.

“I’ll let my father’s greatest achievement rot away inside me here,” she continued, “but first, you need to kill my brother. You need to kill Subject 32—Callum Marelli.”

My pulse hammered.

She smiled, sharp and knowing. “Take a guess why you haven’t found any documents on him outside of those old journals. Why I was the only one locked in a lab, in a cage, when the accounts clearly state there were two of us.” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Unlike me, Callum was deemed stable enough for release.”

My fingers curled around the papers. Stable. That meant ready.

“You retrieved the wrong vial of Compound-SB,” Wren continued. “I was the defective one. Unfit for mass production. But the true product? He’s out there. Prepped and bottled for society.”

The realization settled like lead in my gut. We hadn’t won anything. We were fools to think we had the upper hand.

Wren tilted her head, watching my expression shift. “I can tell you how to kill what you think is unkillable,” she said. “But my cooperation comes at a price.”

I glanced at the mirror. Negotiating on Bulwark’s behalf wasn’t my call. But desperate times. “What do you want?”

Her lips curled into something almost playful. “If I’m going to spend eternity rotting in this cage, I require a companion.”

I frowned. “You want us to find you a boyfriend? A girlfriend?”

She wrinkled her nose, disgusted. “No. I require a cat.”

“… A cat?”

“Not just any cat.” She picked up a book from her cot. Princesses and Daggers. “A Maine Coon. Silver. Preferably female. Like Eleanor Mistshadow’s cat in this novel.”

I blinked at her, then at the book. “I’ll have to run that by the higher-ups, but... I think that can be arranged.”

“Perfect.” She settled back onto the cot, already done with the conversation. Then, almost offhandedly, “By the way, maintaining that form will make you hungry faster. Use it sparingly unless you want to eat your comrades.”

My stomach twisted. A second later, my body snapped back—claws, fangs, pointed ears.

Wren smirked, flipping a page. “Bring me my cat and I will help you destroy Subject 32.”