The blinding lights of the laboratory left no room for shadows. Everything there was white—walls, ceiling, countertops, instruments, even the air seemed devoid of color. A suffocating, almost hostile asepsis. At first, it bothered you deeply. It was the first observation Nerys noted in her records.

The following month, small changes emerged. Nothing flashy, nothing vibrant—just soft, discreet, almost timid tones. The absolute white gave way to pale variations, as if the environment were slowly learning to breathe.

The routine, however, remained the same.

How lucky did someone have to be to wake up every day at the same time, even before their body accepted consciousness? To swallow a hurried meal—when there was one—and not even have time for a minimum of self-care? You were monitored every millisecond, confined to a cubicle they insisted on calling a room. When she wasn't there, she was led to a room that resembled an interrogation room, equipped with study methods that hurt more than any question.

That was the price of being human in that world.

A world where elves held absolute power. Where they were considered the superior species. Where humans were nothing more than guinea pigs… or fugitives.

"Stop, please…"

You remembered saying those words when the experiments went too far. When the pain ceased to be measurable and became just pain. There, you weren't a name—you were just a number. Just another guinea pig. Just too healthy compared to the others.

"...And that's precisely why we need to take good care of you, precious."

The voice was soft. The smile, too gentle for that place. The gloved thumb brushed away some strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead. Nerys's touch was curious—cautious, meticulously affectionate. There was something almost contradictory about it. He was ruthless. A true wild card. Capable of hurting and comforting in equal measure.

This paradox bound you to him more often than you'd like to admit.

One moment, severe punishments. The next, small treats—sweets, fruit, something that reminded you of normalcy. His words echoed in your mind repeatedly, telling you how precious, special, and important you were… in complete contrast to the cold metal table beneath your body.

That table understood all your pain, all your involuntary reactions. Meanwhile, Nerys's warm, gloved hand tried to calm you, while the other held the phone. On the other end, your superior reprimanded you—and Nerys responded with an almost poetic tranquility, as if choosing words for a delicate verse.

"Hmm… subject 19 reacted badly to the high doses. I don't recommend increasing the frequency."

There was concern in his voice. Genuine. Perhaps that was why the other scientists didn't question the decisions of the chief scientist—Nerys himself—so much. Still, to care for a human in that way? To treat scum, as they called his race, with such attention?

No other elf liked that.

And perhaps that was precisely why you remained alive.