chapter three

Nikolas's pov

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. Sleep had been light and restless, my body still adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings. I had woken up before dawn, the weight of everything still pressing down on me.

After a quick shower, I threw on some clothes and stood by the window, staring out into the strange compound. The sky was still a murky shade of gray, the air thick with something I couldn't quite name. The fences, the dense trees beyond them… everything about this place felt more like a fortress than a facility.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I barely reacted when there was a knock on my door. Before I could even say anything, the door swung open.

My uncle walked in, his presence as suffocating as ever. Behind him, a smaller person followed, balancing a tray of food in their hands.

"Eat," my uncle said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll take you around after."

I didn't move, just stared at the tray as the person set it down on the desk before quickly retreating, avoiding eye contact. The scent of warm food filled the room, but my stomach was still twisted in knots.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, crossing my arms.

My uncle gave me a hard look. "Eat anyway."

I exhaled sharply, clenching my jaw. I didn't like how easily he thought he could control me. But at the same time, I knew I needed my strength. If I was going to figure out what was really going on here, I had to be sharp.

So, without another word, I walked over to the desk, sat down, and picked up the fork. I ate, though every bite felt like I was forcing myself. My uncle watched me, arms crossed, as if making sure I didn't try to resist.

When I was done, I pushed the tray away and stood up. "Alright," I said flatly. "Let's get this over with."

A small smirk tugged at his lips, but he said nothing as he turned toward the door.

"Come," he said. "It's time for you to see what Raventhorn is really about."

With one last glance around my small, unfamiliar room, I followed him out, bracing myself for whatever came next.

My uncle led me down a long corridor, his heavy boots echoing against the polished floors. The deeper we went, the more sterile everything became white walls, bright lights, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air. It was the first thing that truly felt familiar in this place.

At the end of the hallway, he pushed open a set of double doors, revealing what looked like a medical facility. Inside, several people in white coats and scrubs were moving about, tending to patients on cots and examining charts.

"This is the clinic," my uncle said, his voice low but firm. "You'll be working here under Dr. Holloway and Dr. Pierce. They'll get you settled in."

As if on cue, two figures stepped forward. One was an older man with silver-streaked hair, wearing a stethoscope around his neck. His sharp eyes immediately took me in, assessing. The other was a woman, younger, with dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She barely spared me a glance as she flipped through a clipboard.

"Dr. Holloway, Dr. Pierce," my uncle addressed them. "This is Nikolas. He'll be joining the clinic."

"Welcome to Raventhorn," Dr. Holloway said, offering a brief nod. "I hope you're quick on your feet. We don't have time for slow learners."

Before I could respond, Dr. Pierce gestured toward the other end of the clinic. "Come, I'll show you around."

My uncle gave me one last look before turning to leave. "Work hard," he said simply. "You'll see soon enough why you're here."

I frowned at his words but said nothing as I followed Dr. Pierce.

She moved swiftly, pointing out the different sections the supply room, the pharmacy, the emergency treatment area. It was all standard for a clinic, but something about the energy in the room felt off. The doctors and nurses moved with an urgency I had never seen before, like they were preparing for something bigger than just treating patients.

Then she took me to the farthest end of the clinic. And that was when I saw them.

Patients men and women lay on cots, bandages wrapped around their arms, their torsos, some of them stained red with fresh blood. Deep wounds ran across their skin, jagged and raw. Claw marks.

I stopped in my tracks, staring.

Dr. Pierce glanced at me. "Something wrong?"

I gestured toward one of the men lying on a cot. His arm was wrapped in thick bandages, but I could still see the deep gashes underneath. "What did this?" I asked.

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she handed me a pair of gloves. "You wanted to work? Then work."

I clenched my jaw, but took the gloves and put them on. I moved to the first patient, carefully unwrapping his bandages to assess the wounds underneath.

The moment I peeled it back, my stomach tightened.

The wounds were too deep, the edges too clean. This wasn't from a dog or any normal animal attack.

I swallowed hard, forcing my hands to remain steady as I began treating him.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of blood, bandages, and exhaustion. Patients kept coming in, each one with wounds that sent a chill down my spine deep gashes, clawed flesh, bites that looked too large to belong to any normal animal. I had seen injuries before, in the hospital, but nothing quite like this.

No one explained anything.

Dr. Pierce gave me instructions, short and to the point. Dr. Holloway barely looked at me unless he had to. The other staff members worked quickly, treating wounds, stitching torn flesh, wrapping bandages—nobody stopping to question anything.

And I was too busy to ask.

I moved from one patient to the next, disinfecting wounds, stitching torn skin, changing dressings, stopping excessive bleeding. My hands were steady, my focus sharp, but my mind kept racing.

What were these people fighting?

By the time we finished, my back ached, my hands were sore, and I was covered in the sharp scent of antiseptic and blood.

I barely registered Dr. Pierce's voice when she spoke. "We start early tomorrow. Don't be late."

I just nodded, stripping off my gloves and dumping them in the bin.

I didn't say a word as I left the clinic, walking through the compound with heavy steps. It was night now, and the air was colder than I expected. The place was quiet, almost too quiet, except for the occasional rustling in the trees beyond the high walls.

I tried not to think about that.

The moment I reached my room, I peeled off my scrubs, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to my skin. The hot water in the shower stung against my sore muscles, but I let it run over me, washing away the day, the blood, the exhaustion.

I didn't bother drying my hair. Didn't bother thinking too much.

I walked straight to my bed and collapsed onto it, my limbs heavy, my mind clouded.

Sleep pulled me under almost instantly.

And for the first time since arriving at Raventhorn, I felt like I had no energy left to fight.