OPERATION WINTERSPINE (Strings Between Us Book 2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: OF BLEEDING THREADS, STOLEN NAMES,

Because that wasn't him. That was Lucem. Echo-9 slipped.

"I'll bring you to Alexie later. But first you have to calm yourself first." I told him.

He just nodded.

I can feel it. His pulse pattern is not stable. It wasn't raging. But it wasn't calm. He's anxious.

The merged P.E class started. KD was excused to participate. Lyle insisted that KD shall be excused for now. KD didn't argue because of what happened earlier. And of course, it wasn't just KD that was excused, also me. Lyle's excuse for me? Asthma. He excused himself too. Same reason.

The never ending excuse of Soriano Bloodline when it comes to P.E: Faked asthma.

And that meant KD, Lyle, and I were just sitting on the bleachers, waiting for the rest of the student body to finish. Nothing exciting, nothing chaotic—well, at least not yet.

"Hey, Pres," Lyle called out to KD, legs crossed, casually holding his playing cards like they were weapons instead of just... cards. Typical Lyle. Always making even downtime look dangerous.

Newsflash: it wasn't nothing. Those were Ares—his Orichalcum playing cards.

KD looked at him but he didn't say anything.

"You almost hurt Alexie," Lyle said, casually tossing the words like they were nothing, but I could see the edge behind them—testing, observing.

I tightened my grip on KD's hand, keeping him anchored.

"I didn't mean to." KD said his voice low.

I shot Lyle a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Really? Is he not done provoking KD?

Of course he didn't care—didn't even flinch. Doesn't matter if I'm glaring daggers or mentally drafting ways to strangle him in his sleep.

"When did you start doing things you're not actually used to doing?" Lyle asked, voice casual, testing him

"Don't you think it's too personal to ask those question, cousin." I interrupted him.

"What? I'm just asking." Lyle shrugged, not caring whatever personal questioned he threw. "I was just concerned with your boyfriend, cousin."

I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt. Typical. Always threading that mix of care and annoyance.

"It started weeks ago," KD muttered, gaze fixed on the floor. "Some weird dreams."

I felt a flicker of worry flare in my chest, and I squeezed his hand a little tighter. Weird dreams. That wasn't just weird—it was a warning, and I wasn't about to let him face it alone.

My brows furrowed. "Different dream from what you told me? The Lucem in the mirror?"

He nodded, slow. "Yeah."

I felt it—the shift in the air—before Lyle even spoke. His voice lost all playfulness. No teasing. Only steel. "What is it about?"

KD took a breath like he didn't want it—like it hurt just to drag the memory into his lungs.

Then he spoke.

"The hallway stretches on forever," he said.

And just like that, everything shifted. I could see it—through his words, through the tremble he tried to bury. Through the weight of something he didn't want me to see but couldn't stop me from feeling.

"Gray concrete walls," KD went on, "wet with condensation. Smells like rust. Cold metal. And... something dead underneath it."

He still wasn't looking at us. Just past us. Like he was back there.

"The lights flicker above me. White. Red. Then black. Over and over. It's almost like it's trying to say something."

My stomach twisted. Tightened. Every instinct screaming that he was walking through something I couldn't reach—not yet.

"I'm barefoot. Chest bare. I can see my ribs when I look down. Every breath fogs in the freezing air. But I don't shiver." He swallowed. "I don't remember walking into that place. Or leaving it. But it feels like I've always been there. Like I've never really left."

Lyle leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Still silent.

KD's voice dropped. "There are numbers on the walls. Painted in long red strokes. Some look clean. Some are smeared, like someone tried to claw them off."

"Like what numbers?" I asked, before I could stop myself.

"9-Φ-9. A-12-B. E.09-Error.09." He said them too easily, like they were tattooed behind his eyes.

Lyle's jaw went tight. That wasn't random. That was a system ID.

"There's a door. Chalk-scrawled with something half-erased. It says, 'Don't answer when they ask your name.'"

The breath caught in my throat.

KD's fingers twitched in his lap. "There's a boy walking. Small. Four? Five? Could be older, could be none of those. He doesn't cry. Doesn't run. His feet make no sound. Like he's trained for it. Or worse—like someone trained him not to be heard."

The room felt colder.

"He walks like he's done this before. Like the silence owns him now."

Then he paused.

And I felt it. Something sharp. Something awful coming.

"Far down the corridor... a scream rips through. Twisting. Echoing."

He didn't even blink.

"He doesn't flinch," KD said softly. "He's used to it. That scream is just... background noise. Like air."

My heart pounded against my ribs. I wasn't sure why—but I wanted him to stop. And at the same time, I needed him to keep going.

"Then I hear it," KD whispered. "A door opens behind him. Footsteps. Measured. Heavy. And then a woman voice. Cold. Precise."

"'Subject Nine. Look forward.'"

KD kept going.

"The boy stops walking. But he doesn't turn. Because turning gets you punished."

A long silence followed.

"Then a hand slams into the back of his head." KD's jaw clenched. "Not enough to knock him down. Just enough to remind him who he is. And then I woke up. Blood on my mouth. My nails have digged into my palm."

Lyle's hands were clenched now. I reached for his hand before I could think about it. He didn't pull away.

KD looked down.

"I don't even remember falling asleep," he whispered. "But I wake up knowing I didn't dream it."

Silence stretched between the three of us. A taut, fraying line.

Then KD said the last part, barely above a whisper.

"'Echo... ready for command.'"

And I swear to god—something broke in him as he said it.

Lyle and I locked eyes.

And the question neither of us wanted to ask came crashing in—

Were we too late?