Chapter 3

The next morning, I decided to investigate where Damian really came from. According to the law, every beastman available for selection was sourced from government-approved institutions. With a little help from my father's connections, I managed to get my hands on some basic files.

Most of the beastmen came from an institution called "Sanctuary". Their files all sounded the same: genetically enhanced, loyal, docile, the perfect partner. But when I found Damian's file, it was stamped with a red "Special Batch" mark, and every detail had been blacked out. All that remained was a tiny note: Disposal Method: To be reclaimed.

"What are you reading?" Lily suddenly popped up behind me and asked.

"Nothing," I blurted out, snapping the folder shut. "Just some schoolwork."

Lily tilted her head at me. "Your beastman was howling like crazy last night. But this morning, I ran into him in the yard, and he picked up my hair clip for me when I dropped it." She pulled out a tiny butterfly clip, asking, "He's actually pretty gentle, isn't he?"

I couldn't help but feel surprised. In my last life, Lily had always been terrified of Damian and never even dared to go near him by herself.

"He... Yeah, he's not as scary as he looks," I replied vaguely.

Lily leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "I think Rachel's up to something. She's been asking all kinds of questions about your beastman this morning."

I immediately tensed up. "What kind of questions?"

"Just stuff like whether he's normal or if there's anything special about him." Lily frowned in concern. "She even said she had a surprise for you, but it doesn't feel like a good one."

That afternoon, the so-called "surprise" showed up. I was looking through some files in the study when Rachel came barging in with a bunch of her friends.

"Ash, I brought some friends over to see your... uh, pet," she cooed, her syrupy voice making my skin crawl.

Before I could stop them, they were already making their way to Damian's room. I rushed after them, only to find Damian surrounded in the middle of the room. One of Rachel's guy friends was even jabbing at his wounds with the tip of an umbrella.

"Stop," I yelled, shoving the guy out of the way.

Damian was in a bad state. He was curled up in the corner, trembling all over. But it wasn't fear making him shake; it was barely contained rage. I saw his claws had unsheathed, and his eyes were burning a deep, bloody red.

"Get out. Now," I snapped.

Rachel pouted, her tone mocking. "Don't be so fierce. We're just curious what kind of beastman could make you ditch that gorgeous snow leopard."

"Out! Now," I ordered again, planting myself firmly between Damian and the others.

Once they finally left, Damian slowly started to calm down. I crouched down and gently touched his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" I asked softly.

Damian looked up at me, the red in his eyes fading, but something darker still lingered in his gaze. He suddenly said, "She's not your real sister."

I replied, "What? No, Rachel is—"

"The smell of your blood is different," he interrupted. "You and that little girl... Lily? Your blood smells similar. But hers is different."

I froze. It was such a weird thing to say, but somehow, I just knew Damian was right. Rachel was my half-sister. My mom died when I was five, and after Dad remarried, Lily was born.

But nobody ever talked about that family secret, and outsiders had no idea about it at all.

'How can you... smell that?' I asked, barely able to get the words out.

Damian didn't answer. He just turned to the window and said, "She's coming."

A few seconds later, Rachel showed up in the doorway, plastering on that fake smile. She said, "Ash, Dad wants to see you." But her eyes stayed locked on Damian, and the way she looked at him made my skin crawl—it wasn't curiosity or disgust, but something cold and calculating, like a scientist sizing up a test subject.

"We'll be right there," I said, my voice icy.

Once Rachel was gone, Damian spoke up again, his voice low and serious, "Be careful with her. There's something about her scent. It's familiar but dangerous."

"What scent?" I asked, my heart pounding.

Damian's nose twitched, a flicker of confusion and fear crossing his eyes. "Sanctuary," he finally said, the word sending a chill down my spine.

At three in the morning, I was jolted awake by that same sound again.

Damian's whimpers came through the walls, grating on my nerves like a dull knife. This was already the third time this week. I threw off the covers, grabbed my robe, and tiptoed toward Damian's room.

When I pushed the door open, moonlight spilled across Damian's curled-up form. His gray fur was drenched in cold sweat, clinging to his skin, and the ragged edge of his left ear kept twitching.

His claws were unconsciously tearing at the carpet, and he was mumbling something under his breath.

He mumbled, "No... Lab table... Sanctuary... Please..."

I crept closer and hit the record button on my watch. In the past two weeks, I'd already collected seven of these sleep-talking recordings—each phrase was like a puzzle piece, pointing toward a truth I really didn't want to believe.

"Subject K-907... Too resistant... Increase the dosage..."

Suddenly, Damian started convulsing hard, letting out a desperate, animal-like cry. I didn't bother hiding anymore. I dropped to my knees and grabbed his shaking shoulders.

"Damian, wake up. You're having a nightmare," I shouted.