Chapter 7
Victor
"Sir?" The security officer's voice was hesitant. "The genetic results just came through. You asked to be notified immediately."
I took the tablet he offered, the cool metal grounding me as I scanned the data. Once, twice, forcing myself to process what I was seeing against everything I thought I knew.
Subject: Lorelei Caspian
Species: Human (Homo sapiens)
Genetic markers: No siren DNA detected
Pheromone analysis: Strong Alpha lycan markers present, consistent with recent sexual contact
Conclusion: Subject is human female, no evidence of siren heritage or contamination
Human.
Relief hit first—sharp and immediate—before the implications started cascading through my mind like falling dominoes. She was human. The genetic testing showed no siren markers, no contamination, nothing that should have triggered our detection systems. Which meant either our equipment had failed catastrophically, or—
I stopped myself. Forced my mind to slow down, to think like the Supreme Commander I was supposed to be rather than a man whose world had just shifted on its axis.
The hotel surveillance had shown me picking her up in the industrial district. The vehicle GPS confirmed I'd driven straight there after leaving headquarters, no detours, no gaps that couldn't be accounted for. The heart-scale had been in my possession when I woke up, and according to the hotel's security footage, she'd been the one to press it into my palm before I left.
All evidence pointing to her as the source of my compromise. And yet.
No siren DNA.
"Pull the cross-reference on our detection equipment," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I want confirmation that the scanners were functioning properly during her initial apprehension. And get me the technical specs on how high-level siren abilities interact with genetic testing—specifically whether Alpha pheromones could mask or suppress siren markers in a blood sample."
The officer's eyes widened slightly. "You think the results might be compromised, sir?"
"I think I need to verify every assumption I've made in the past twelve hours." I handed back the tablet. "Also pull my office security footage from yesterday evening. I want to see my exact state when I left headquarters, cross-referenced with the hotel timeline."
Not because I didn't remember—I had no memory of those hours at all, a blank void where six hours of my life should have been. But the office footage would show whether the psychic influence had started before I left the building or only after. Whether I'd been targeted specifically or simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Think it through. What do you actually know?
A human woman, genetic testing clean, carrying a siren heart-scale that represented an intimate bond she shouldn't have been able to form. The scale had been in my possession, given to me during hours I couldn't remember, by a woman who'd shown no signs of siren abilities during her apprehension but who'd somehow gotten close enough to a Supreme Commander to spend six hours in a hotel room with him.
Either she was exactly what she appeared—a human woman caught up in something she didn't understand, used as a pawn by a siren who'd controlled us both—or she was something our testing couldn't detect. Something that could fool genetic scanners the same way she'd apparently fooled our security systems, our surveillance, our every attempt to identify what she actually was.
The thought made my blood run cold, but I couldn't dismiss it. Not when the alternative was believing that a siren had somehow orchestrated an elaborate setup using a random human woman as bait, had controlled my mind precisely enough to make me pick her up and take her to a hotel, had left evidence that could destroy my career—and then what? Vanished without a trace, leaving her victim to face the consequences?
What's the goal? What does any of this accomplish?
I walked back into the interrogation room, my mind still turning over possibilities, trying to find the pattern in the chaos. Lorelei looked up at me, and I watched calculation flash across her face before she smoothed it into careful neutrality. Not the reaction of someone lost and confused. The reaction of someone trying to figure out what I knew, what I was about to do.
There. That's not innocence.
"The genetic testing came back," I said, keeping my voice neutral, watching her face. "The results show you're human. No siren DNA, no contamination markers. Which means either you're exactly what you appear to be, or you're something our current testing protocols can't detect."
Her eyes widened—surprise or performance, I couldn't tell. "I told you I was human."
"You told me a lot of things, Miss Caspian. The question is whether any of them were true." I leaned against the table, close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat, the way her hands twisted in the sheet. "Here's what I know for certain: I have no memory of the past six to eight hours. I have surveillance footage showing me picking you up in an industrial district and taking you to a hotel. I have a siren heart-scale that was in my possession when I woke up, and hotel security showing you giving it to me. And I have genetic testing that says you're human, which should make all of this impossible."
"I don't understand what you want me to say." Her voice was small, frightened, but there was something underneath it. Something harder.
"I want you to tell me the truth." I pulled out my comm unit, loaded it with credits—insurance, leverage, a way to track her movements if she ran. "Because right now, I have two possibilities. Either you're a victim of whatever happened last night, caught up in a siren's manipulation through no fault of your own. Or you're something we can't detect, something that can fool our scanners and our surveillance, and you targeted me specifically for reasons I don't yet understand."
I held her gaze, watching for the tell. "So which is it, Miss Caspian? Are you the victim here, or are you the threat?"
She stared at me for a long moment, something complicated moving behind her eyes. Fear, yes, but also calculation. Desperation. And underneath it all, a kind of exhausted defiance that made me think of cornered animals deciding whether to run or fight.
"I met someone," she said finally. "In the industrial district. We came to the hotel together. He gave me the scale before he left. That's all I know. That's all I remember."
Liar. But whether she was lying to protect herself, or because she genuinely couldn't remember—because something had been done to her memory the same way mine had been taken—I couldn't tell.
"I'm going to need you to remain in the city while we investigate further," I said, handing her the comm unit. "This is loaded with credits and has my direct contact code. If you remember anything else about last night, anything at all, you use it immediately. Do you understand?"
She nodded, clutching the unit like a lifeline.
"There's a witness protection facility two blocks from here. Report there within the hour—they'll provide secure housing and a protective detail until we determine exactly what happened and whether you're in danger." I straightened, putting professional distance between us. "If you're a victim in this, Miss Caspian, I'll make sure you're protected. But if you're lying to me, if you're involved in whatever compromised me last night, I will find out. And when I do, genetic testing results won't matter. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes," she whispered. "I understand."
I watched her leave, watched the way she moved—too careful, too controlled for someone who'd just been cleared of charges. And I thought about that heart-scale sitting in an evidence bag, about six hours of missing memory, about how a human woman with no siren DNA had somehow ended up at the center of the most significant security breach in Bureau history.
Something's wrong with this picture. Something I'm not seeing.
My comm unit buzzed. Silas, the message brief and urgent: Need you in the lab. Now. Found something in the pheromone analysis you need to see.
I took one last look at the interrogation room, at the blood still staining the sheets, at all the evidence that should have told me exactly what happened but somehow only raised more questions.
I'm going to find out the truth, I thought, heading for the lab. Whatever it takes. Whoever she really is, whatever actually happened last night—I'm going to know.
