Page 55 of Shadow's Claim

"Are you alright?" Kael asks, one hand—his upper right—hovering near the small of my back without quite touching me. The gesture strikes me as oddly considerate, especially from someone who once claimed my body without hesitation.

"I'm fine," I respond, straightening with effort. "Just tired."

He nods, accepting my assessment without questioning it. Another small evolution in our complicated dynamic—trust where once there was only suspicion.

"The Academy maintains different security protocols than administrative districts," he explains, moving toward the door with surprising stealth for someone his size. "More focused on information protection than physical containment."

"Meaning?"

"Fewer guards, more surveillance." One of his hands gestures toward a small device mounted in the corner. "Monitoring systems that track movement patterns rather than individual identities."

So we're not immediately arrested, just recorded for future punishment. Progress, I suppose.

Kael cracks the door open, peering into the hallway beyond. "Clear," he announces, beckoning me forward. "Stay close to the wall. Shadow-rich areas provide better concealment."

I follow his instructions, keeping to the darkest parts of the corridor as we make our way through the research wing's basement level. The Academy never sleeps—even at this late hour, lights glow from beneath some doors, and occasional voices drift through the halls. Researchers working through the night, probably. Shadow demons need less rest than humans, a fact I've become intimately familiar with during my months with Kael.

We reach a service stairwell, narrow and utilitarian. Unlike the main staircase with its dramatic architectural flourishes, this one is purely functional—metal steps with railings that echo slightly with each footfall.

"Two floors," I remind myself, gripping the railing as we begin our ascent. The hybrid's weight makes each step a challenge, and lingering exhaustion from the shadow transit doesn't help.

Halfway up the first flight, voices echo from somewhere above us. Kael freezes, four arms immediately creating a protective barrier of darkness around us both. It's instinctive, the way he moves to shield me. Not simple possession, but something more complex—protection rather than containment.

I hold my breath, pressing against the wall as the voices grow louder.

"—latest directive from Sovereign Obscura," says a female voice, the distinctive resonance marking her as shadow demon. "All hybrid research prioritized effective immediately."

"The timing is suspicious," replies a male voice—human, from the lack of that vibrating undertone. "Coming right after Lord Kael's defiance at the presentation."

"The Morphos Project requires additional subjects," the female continues. "Especially after the failure of the Z-series experiments."

"Failures? Those were living beings, Vestra. Twenty-seven dead hybrids is not a 'failure'—it's a massacre."

Their voices fade as they pass the stairwell door, continuing down the corridor. Cold horror settles in my chest. Twenty-seven dead hybrids. I instinctively curl forward, arms wrapping around my belly where our child grows. The hybrid's consciousness darkens in response to my fear, its mental touch against my mind becoming anxious and confused.

Kael's shadows gradually relax around us, but his glowing eyes have narrowed to dangerous slits. His lower left hand moves to my shoulder—not restraining, but steadying. The touch anchors me, pulls me back from the edge of panic.

"The Morphos Project," he says, voice barely audible. "Obscura's specialized hybrid development program."

"Development program?" I whisper, the words catching in my throat.

"Accelerated growth experiments. Specialized training to enhance shadow abilities." His four hands clench simultaneously, shadows darkening around him. "Few subjects survive the process."

Twenty-seven dead hybrids. Not statistics. Children. Lives extinguished for scientific advancement and political power.

"That's what Obscura wants with our baby," I say, the realization hitting me like physical pain. "Laboratory experiments."

"Yes." The single word contains volumes of suppressed rage. The shadows around Kael writhe with barely controlled emotion. I've never seen him this affected, not even during the most intense rut cycles.

My hand presses harder against my abdomen, feeling the shadow patterns pulse with increased tempo. The hybrid's consciousness pushes against my mind, communicating fear but also something fiercer—determination, perhaps. It understands more than I thought possible.

"Dr. Grey," I whisper, renewed urgency in my voice. "We need to find him now."

We continue up the stairs more quickly, caution partially sacrificed for speed. Every minute increases the risk of discovery—by Academy security, by Obscura's forces, or by whatever research team runs this "Morphos Project."

The second floor corridor stretches before us, doors lining both sides with plaques identifying research specialties. We scan them quickly as we pass—"Dimensional Physics," "Psychic Transference," "Hybrid Genomics." Finally, near the end of the hall, we find it: "Reproductive Compatibility Studies—Dr. Marcus Grey."

The door is locked, of course. But before Kael can use his shadow abilities to bypass the security, I notice something unexpected—a small red light blinking above the keypad.

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