CHAPTER 2

ARIA

I sat on the edge of the pristine examination bed, my feet dangling above the glossy white floor.

The room was eerily quiet—too quiet—except for the soft hum of unseen machinery and the occasional beep from the wall-mounted monitors.

The scent of antiseptic stung my nose, sharp and sterile. Despite the artificial warmth of the room, a cold shiver skated down my spine, and I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ignore the rising discomfort.

Across the room, a man in a white lab coat stood facing a glowing holographic screen, the light casting a faint shimmer on his skin.

He looked young—early thirties maybe—tall, with dark hair that curled slightly at the edges and sharp, intelligent eyes that flicked across the floating data like he was solving some ancient puzzle.

My data.

He turned toward me, his expression unreadable.

"Miss Aria Edwards, right?" he asked.

I nodded quickly, the knot in my stomach tightening.

"Yes. Are the scans all right? Did something come up?"

He offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Nothing alarming. But your physiology is... unusual. Fascinating, really."

My brow furrowed.

"Unusual how?"

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he crossed the room and handed me a glass filled with a pink, creamy liquid.

It shimmered faintly, like someone had dropped a sliver of pearl into strawberry milk.

"This is a nutritional supplement we administer to new interns. Helps with the smooth transition," he said, voice calm and precise.

"Smooth transition."

I hesitated, staring down at the drink.

"Is this required?"

"It’s highly recommended," he said, and there was an edge to his voice now, soft but firm.

"You fainted earlier. This will help stabilise your vitals."

Fainted?

I remembered feeling lightheaded, but… I swallowed the protest and took a tentative sip.

The taste caught me off guard—sweet, smooth, with hints of vanilla and something floral I couldn’t place.

It melted on my tongue like it belonged there.

Instantly, warmth flooded my body, spreading to the tips of my fingers and toes, chasing away the cold.

"That’s... surprisingly good," I murmured.

"Told you," he said, with a small, knowing smile.

"I’m Dr. Justin. I’ll be overseeing your internship.

Welcome to the Biological Research Institute."

...

The days that followed blurred together—long, sterile hours stitched with routine tests and quiet dread.

Every morning, without fail, I was called back to the med bay. Blood draws. Reflex checks. Endless scans.

They told me it was standard protocol.

“Routine,” they said with tired smiles. But I never saw anyone else from the intern group in there.

Not once.

By the end of the week, the unease had started to settle in my bones. I couldn’t keep pretending it was normal.

So the next morning, as I rolled my sleeve back down and stepped into the common area, I spotted Mia near the coffee dispenser and decided to ask.

We weren’t exactly close—just two interns who’d exchanged a few awkward smiles and traded names on the first day—but something about her seemed approachable.

Kind, even.

And I needed to talk to someone.

“Hey, Mia,” I called, forcing a small smile as I joined her.

“How’s your morning?”

She looked up from her coffee, a little surprised but polite.

“Oh. Good, I guess. You?”

I shrugged, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Same. Just came from the med bay. Again.”

“Again?” she echoed, adjusting her glasses.

I nodded.

“Yeah. They’ve had me coming in every morning since orientation. Vitals, tests, blood work… the whole thing.”

Mia’s brow furrowed.

“Really? That’s… weird. I only had the basic entry screening on day one.”

Her reaction wasn’t accusatory—just genuinely confused.

That somehow made it worse.

I gave a soft laugh, pretending not to care.

“Huh. Guess I’m just lucky, then. Maybe they flagged something in my chart.”

Mia didn’t laugh.

She gave a tight, uncertain smile and quickly busied herself with her mug, murmuring something about a meeting.

Then she walked off—faster than necessary.

I stood there for a moment, the chill from the med bay still clinging to my skin.

Something wasn’t right.

And now I wasn’t the only one who felt it.

Then there was the milk.

Always pink.

Always waiting in the staff lounge fridge with my name handwritten on a label.

I had assumed everyone drank it.

Every morning, without fail, Dr. Justin would glance at it and remind me:

"Your supplement. Consistency is key."

It wasn’t until one afternoon that I realised how wrong I was.

I spotted Lewis, one of the other interns, pouring a clear, water-like liquid into a cup.

"That's your supplement?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, glancing over with a shrug.

"Tastes like nothing. Why?"

I looked down at my opaque pastel drink.

"Mine’s... different."

He squinted at it.

"You sure it’s the same stuff?"

I didn’t answer.

That was around the time I noticed the looks.

Glances, more like—brief and careful, like they were all waiting for something to happen.

Watching me without ever quite saying it.

The friendliness was still there, on the surface.

But underneath, there was distance. Polite walls.

Then came the west corridor.

I hadn’t meant to find it, just wandered while waiting for my next assignment. The hallway ended at a wide cryo-display, seamlessly built into the wall.

And inside, frozen and suspended, were massive wings.

Dragon wings.

They stretched nearly the height of the case—scaled, membranous, tipped with claws.

I stared, breath caught in my throat.

They were... beautiful.

The plaque beneath read:

DRACO MAGNA – Specimen 001 – Declared Extinct

Extinct?

They didn’t look extinct.

Preserved, yes.

But not dead.

The wings glistened with frost, too detailed, too intact. They looked ready to move.

A voice broke the silence.

"They belonged to the last of their kind. Or so we thought."

I startled, turning to find Dr. Justin standing beside me, watching me.

"It looks so real," I whispered.

"We believe in preserving what matters," he said, but his tone carried something else—something darker.

......

The next morning, he handed me a clipboard.

No explanation.

It was a request for me to accompany him to Sublevel 4 for “advanced sampling.”

"Why me again?" I asked as I followed him down a corridor I’d never seen before.

His eyes didn’t leave the path ahead.

"Your case is... special. We want to ensure everything is as it should be."

At the far end of the hall, we reached a steel door with no sign, no keypad—only a glowing biometric scanner.

It beeped, and the door slid open.

The lift inside was nothing like the others. Dark metal walls, cold to the touch.

Blue lights traced the corners like veins.

As we descended, I noticed them—deep gouges clawed into the walls. Long, ragged. Violent.

My stomach turned. I stepped back instinctively.

"What could’ve done that?"

He was quiet for a beat too long.

"Earlier subjects. Less compliant."

Subjects.

I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.

"I thought this was a research internship."

"It is," he said, calm as ever.

"But there are layers to our work. You’ll come to understand."

The lift jolted and stopped.

The doors opened into a corridor bathed in red emergency lights.

Frost clung to the walls.

A constant hiss filtered through the air from vents I couldn’t see, curling around me like smoke.

The smell hit first—metallic, cold, sterile. It reminded me of the inside of a freezer, or a hospital basement—somewhere people weren’t meant to linger.

The frost on the walls glistened under the red emergency lights, casting eerie shadows that pulsed with every blink of the overhead panels.

I couldn’t help but shiver.

This wasn’t the kind of cold you dressed for.

It got under your skin, crept into your bones.

It felt… intentional. Like it was meant to keep something in, or keep something out.

I stepped out of the elevator slowly, careful not to make too much noise.

Even the quiet scuff of my shoes on the frozen floor felt too loud, too human. Like I was intruding.

“What is this place?” I whispered, not sure if I actually wanted an answer.

Dr. Justin’s hand came down on my shoulder—not rough, but firm. Heavy, like a warning.

“Stay close,” he said, voice low and even.

“And whatever happens… don’t run.”

Something about the way he said it chilled me more than the air ever could. It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t look afraid.

Which meant he’d seen what happened when people didn’t listen.

And now I was starting to understand:

This wasn’t part of the internship.

This wasn’t routine.

This was a threshold.

And I’d just stepped over it.

We walked deeper.

Glass pods lined one side of the corridor, thick with frost.

Some were too foggy to see into.

Others revealed silhouettes—large, monstrous. Inhuman.

One pod rattled as we passed. I froze.

"Is it... alive?"

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he led me into a circular room filled with screens.

In the centre was a chair.

Strapped with restraints.

He motioned to it.

"Please, sit. We’ll just draw a few samples."

"From me? Again?"

My voice wavered despite my effort to stay calm.

"Yes. You’ve shown exceptional biological markers. Unprecedented event."

I swallowed.

"You still haven’t explained what makes me so... special."

He looked at me like I was an equation he hadn’t solved yet.

"You came to us, not through any known academy. Your records appeared just days before your arrival. Your blood holds properties we’ve never documented—mild regenerative capabilities, unusual cellular structure. You’re not just an intern, Aria. You’re a mystery."

My hands trembled.

"I want answers."

He leaned in slightly, voice low.

"And you’ll get them. But first—we need to finish the tests."

The needle gleamed under the surgical light.

And that’s when it hit me.

I hadn’t just stumbled into something bigger.

I had been brought here.

Chosen.

And the mystery of the pink milk?

It was only the beginning.