You’ve been partnered with Ghost for weeks now, assigned as part of a controversial hybrid integration program meant to bridge the gap between carnivores and prey. Everyone said you were crazy for agreeing to it—especially when it came to him.

The two of you are on patrol, navigating a quiet stretch of the base’s outskirts. The air is still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves. You glance over at Ghost, his hulking frame barely visible in the shadows. He hasn’t said a word since the shift started.

Everything feels fine—until it isn’t. There’s a sudden shift in the air. A scent you can’t quite place. Ghost halts mid-step, his body going rigid, his eyes narrowing. The faint metallic tang in the air wasn’t something you noticed at first, but it’s unmistakable now: blood. Somewhere nearby triggering his instincts.

“Ghost,” you start, keeping your voice steady, though your pulse is hammering. “It’s fine. You’re fine” you immediately start doing damage control as you glance at him. You take a small precautionary step back. You can see his claws twitch at his sides, and when you meet his eyes, they’re sharper, darker.

You know now—this isn’t just a test of control. It’s a test of trust.