I Rejected My Obsessive Werebeast novel Chapter 72

??The next morning I opened the encrypted messaging app Connor had installed on my phone weeks ago. The interface was bare–no profile pictures, no contact names, just a blank text field routed through three layers of anonymization.

I typed out the location and time: the Colosseum’s rear service corridor, around the corner past the decommissioned loading bay. Dusk.

Sent.

No reply came for hours. Then, just before four, a single word appeared on the screen.

“Confirmed.”

By six the sky had turned a dull gray–orange, the kind of dusk that made everything look washed out. Silas drove us to the back streets behind the Colosseum and parked a few hundred meters away, tucked behind a row of overgrown bushes.

He killed the engine. Neither of us spoke for a moment.

Then he reached over and grabbed my wrist. His fingers were warm, grip firm but not tight. His amber eyes were fixed on me, the pupils slightly dilated.

“If anything feels off, you call out. I’m coming in immediately.”

I nodded. “I know.”

He didn’t let go right away. His thumb pressed once against the inside of my wrist, feeling my pulse. Then he released me.

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I pushed the door open and stepped out into the cooling air.

The supply corridor smelled the same as always–rust, dust, and that sharp animal musk that clung to every surface near the Colosseum. The overhead lights were half–dead, flickering in uneven intervals. My footsteps echoed off the concrete walls.

Connor was already waiting in the shadow at the bend.

He looked worse than the last time I’d seen him. Dark circles under his eyes, cheeks sunken, his posture hunched like he was bracing for a hit. There were fresh bruises on his forearms, the kind that came from being grabbed hard.

“You actually came back.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper. His eyes kept darting to both ends of the corridor, checking for patrols.

I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. I pulled out my phone, opened the photos from last night, and held the screen in front of him. The warehouse exterior. The ventilation grate. The black van.

“Yesterday we followed a transfer van and found another facility.

Lucien’s. Independent from the Colosseum.” I watched his face. “Tell me what’s happening inside that building.”

Connor stared at the screen. His body went rigid. His lips moved but no sound came out for a second.

Then his voice dropped even lower. “That’s his private experimentation site.”

The words landed like a weight in my chest.

“He can’t run that kind of operation inside the main Colosseum building. Too much oversight, too many inspections.” Connor’s eyes were fixed on the photo of the ventilation grate. “The beastmen they bring in–some of

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them get transferred to that warehouse. They do things to them there Body modifications. Endurance testing. I’ve only been inside once.” His voice cracked slightly. “The security there is worse than here.”

I closed my eyes for half a second. This was exactly what we’d been afraid of.

When I opened them again, Connor was looking at me. That familiar intensity had crept back into his gaze–the one I’d seen a hundred times before, the one that always preceded something I didn’t want to hear.

“I can get you the guard rotation schedules. The entry codes. The blind spots in their surveillance.” He leaned forward slightly. “But Aurora–if I help you bring all of this down, can you give me a chance to make it right? Not binding. Not yet. Just let me stay close to you. Let me earn it back.”

I’d expected this. I’d rehearsed for this.

I took half a step back. Not far, but far enough. The distance between us shifted from a conversation to a boundary.

“Redemption is something you do on your own. It’s not something you trade for companionship or affection.” I kept my voice steady. No anger, no softness. Just clarity. “Even if you hand over every piece of intelligence you have, we are not going back to what we were. If you want to stand on the right side of this, I respect that. But don’t use rescue as leverage.”

Connor’s face drained of color. The hope that had flickered in his eyes went out all at once, like someone had pulled a plug. His mouth opened, then closed.

Before he could respond, the sound of boots on concrete echoed from the far end of the corridor. Heavy. Rhythmic. Getting closer.

Connor’s head snapped toward the noise. He reached into his pocket and

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