Page 1 of Glass Rose (Where Roses Rot #1)

ONE

SOFIA

This is it. No going back now. Four civilians are about to see what Green Research has been hiding for years—what I’ve been documenting in secret for months. What I’ve been complicit in.

I wipe my palm on my lab coat, the keycard too slick in my grip.

2:11 PM.

They’re late.

What did I expect?

Punctuality isn’t exactly compatible with Alex’s carefully cultivated too-cool-for-rules persona. I should’ve known better than to trust a Vlogger with something this important.

I’ve timed this perfectly, but one unexpected patrol and we’re all fucked. Every second we waste increases the likelihood of someone discovering us in a place we shouldn’t be.

I glance up at the security camera mounted in the corner, its red light blinking steadily. Henry, an old friend of my father, should have looped the feed by now. Empty corridor footage on repeat.

I tug at my lab coat, straightening it over my trembling shoulders. What am I doing? Maybe they’re not coming. Perhaps I can still abort this whole fucking catastrophe waiting to happen.

Two more laps around the service entrance, and I’ll call it off. I’ll delete the emails, wipe my phone, and pretend I never contacted them. I’ll go back to my lab and keep taking notes on the ‘progress’ of our subjects, watching them deteriorate while telling myself I’m gathering evidence.

But then what? Keep documenting atrocities while pretending I’m not complicit?

I’m such a coward.

The keycard burns in my hand like a confession.

Five years of education and three years of dedicated research, and I’m about to torch it all in one night. Those people in the cells below… they didn’t sign up for this. Neither did I.

My phone buzzes, and my heart launches into my throat. I swallow it back down, striding to the door and swiping my card.

Alex Torres, urban exploration extraordinaire, flashes that camera-ready smile that’s charmed thousands of followers and gotten me out of my pants more times than I care to admit. Three people trail behind him.

Good. Everyone is wearing the lab coats I provided. If anyone spots us, we look like research staff making rounds.

“Sofia.” Alex wraps me in a quick hug. “Looking good for someone about to commit corporate espionage.”

I step back, putting professional distance between us. “This isn’t a joke. I told you to come at 2:05 precisely because security does rounds at 2:00 and 2:30. People’s lives are at stake.”

“Always so serious.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering a second too long. It’s been one month since our last hookup. “That’s what I like about you. ”

I swat his hand away, turning to address the crew.

“Listen up. I’m a pharmaceutical researcher here.

What you’re about to see violates every ethical standard in modern medicine.

But if any of you screw this up, we’re all going to jail.

” My voice shakes despite my efforts. “Follow me closely and keep that camera off me. I can’t be identified in your footage. And please don’t touch anything.”

“Relax, we’ll blur you out and voice disguised, just like you asked,” he says.

I check my watch again. “We have eighteen minutes before the next security sweep.”

“We know the drill, Doc. I’m Mia, by the way,” she says. “I handle sound and photos.” She gestures to the tall, lanky younger guy beside her. “That’s Peter, camera pro, and that’s Jack, our production assistant. We’re not amateurs.”

“I know. That’s why I decided to tell you. But this… This isn’t some abandoned factory with cool graffiti. This is a billion-dollar company that could ruin our lives with a snap of their fingers. This is a biocontainment facility with experimental compounds that could literally dissolve your skin.”

That shuts her up.

Alex steps between us. “Sofia’s right. Mia, Jack, Peter, do what she says.” He turns to me. “Lead the way.”

I guide them through the first security checkpoint, using my keycard and punching in my code with shaking fingers. The light blinks green, and the pneumatic door hisses open.

Alex walks beside me. “So what exactly does Green Research work on?”

“Officially? Pharmaceutical research. Vaccines, antivirals, medications.” The card digs into my palm. “Unofficially? Human experimentation. Behavior modification. Things that violate the Geneva Convention.”

“And the boss allows this?”

“Old man Green died three months ago. His son, Gabriel, has been running things since. He’s the one who started and now accelerated the BC-7 trials.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“Two years.” My throat tightens. “I needed to pay off student loans. They offered triple what any university would pay. By the time I realized what was happening, I was in too deep.”

“Classic corporate villainy.” Mia adjusts her coat. “You have documentation?”

I tap my pocket, where a flash drive sits like a ticking bomb. “Everything. Tests. Results. Video logs. Enough to shut this place down.”

“And put you in jail,” Jack says.

“Thanks for the reminder.” I know what’s at stake. I had to take sleeping pills to be able to get a wink of sleep.

At the next door, I hesitate. Once we go beyond this point, there’s no turning back.

I hate that Alex was so insistent, but he was also right. Everything I put out there could be buried under claims of ‘fakes’ and ‘AI manipulation.’

I need witnesses. People with such a high number of followers that Green can’t hide or explain it away.

“Having second thoughts, Dr. Cruz?” Alex asks, his voice softer now, meant only for me.

“Every fucking second.” I’m doing this. No holding back. I swipe my card. “But not enough to stop.”

We descend two more levels, the hallways growing narrower, the air thicker with each floor, or maybe I’m imagining it because this is suicidal. The lighting shifts from bright fluorescents to a sickly green-blue that makes everyone’s skin look corpse-like.

I need to calm down. Everything goes according to plan, and the meeting won’t end until we’re out of here, so nobody will roam around .

“Jesus,” Peter whispers, a guy barely old enough to drink. “This is some horror movie shit.”

He’s not wrong. Sub-level 3 has always reminded me of a morgue designed by someone who’s never seen a dead body but imagined the worst possible storage facility for them.

I tap my card to the reader. “This is the main lab and containment area.”

“Containment for what?” Mia asks.

“Human test subjects.”

Alex whistles low. “This is bigger than you let on.”

“You have no idea.”

The containment cells line both sides of the big room, each with a reinforced observation window. Most are empty, but in some, figures lie on hospital beds connected to monitoring equipment. In the middle, an examination seat faces a monitor.

“Holy shit.” Peter raises his camera.

Jack peers through the observation window. “These are all… people?”

“Supposed criminals.” That’s what Green Research told me when I first started feeling queasy about the experiments. “But I found documents. Most of them are homeless people or migrants without documentation. People no one would miss.”

Alex scans the cells, his camera recording steadily. “How many?”

“Thirty-two subjects currently. Down from forty-eight three months ago. The surviving ones are held at a level lower. The dead ones… here until they’ll be cleaned up.” There is no nice word for what is done to them.

My keycard shouldn’t give me access, but I cloned Dr. Brown’s card one month ago after he passed out drunk at the staff Christmas party. The things men will tell you when they think they might get laid .

“The subjects in this section are or were in the final testing phase,” I explain as we approach the secure door of one cell. “The virus has been modified over twenty iterations now. This version, BC-7.21, shows the highest compliance rates but also the most severe side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?” Mia asks.

“Aggression paradoxically increases in about 20% of subjects. Cognitive function declines. Some individuals experience increased physical capabilities but decreased reasoning abilities. And then… death.”

“Can we talk to him?” Jack asks. “Is he sedated?”

“He’s dead.” I tap the glass. “BC-7 subject fourteen. Respiratory failure after nine days of treatment. They just… haven’t moved the body yet. That’s why tonight was our only chance—minimal staff, minimal subjects.”

Jack steps back, face pale. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t catch anything through the glass.” I move to the next cell. This is weird. “This one’s still alive. Maybe they forgot to move him.”

A man in his forties lies strapped to a hospital bed, eyes open but unfocused. Tubes snake from his arms to machines that beep softly. His skin has a grayish cast, veins visible like dark rivers beneath.

“What’s wrong with him?” Peter whispers, camera whirring.

“BC-7 is supposed to increase compliance in subjects. Make them more… malleable.” My fingers twitch against my thigh. “The military applications are obvious.”

Alex moves closer to the glass. “So Green’s making super-soldiers?”

“They’re making something none of us can understand and kill people.” I recheck my watch. “We need to move faster. I want to show you the other lab and documentation.”

“Hold up.” Alex wanders down the corridor, stopping at Cell 14, where a motionless body lies on a bed, his finger hovering over the open button. “Can we go inside this one?”

I move to the cell’s monitoring station, pulling up the digital log with quick taps. Something doesn’t add up. “Subject was marked for disposal two days ago. Status still reads ‘pending collection.’” I drag the scrollbar, going through more entries. “They pick them up every night.”

The hairs on my neck stand up as I glance through the glass. Something about the angle of the body doesn’t match standard post-mortem positioning. Chest isn’t moving. No breathing. But there’s no decay either. And the skin color is… too grayish.

“We should just go to the lab.” I back away. “Guards coming soon.”

Alex catches my elbow, steering me a few steps away from the others. “Hey, you’re getting paranoid. We need this footage.” His voice drops lower, intimate. “This is what you wanted, right? Expose everything?”

“Yes, but—” I glance back at the cell. Jack and Mia are examining the electronic lock while Peter films. “We need to stick to the plan. I’ve documented everything already. We don’t need to go into the cells.”

His thumb traces circles on my inner wrist. “Sofia, relax. We’re fine. Security’s nowhere near us.”

My attention splits between his touch and the nagging feeling in my gut. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what is it?” His eyes hold mine, that same look that got me into his bed the first time.

“I don’t know, I just?—”

“Hey, check this out!” Jack calls from down the corridor.

I try to pull away, but Alex’s grip tightens slightly. “They’ll be fine for two minutes. Besides, I’ve missed you.”

“This isn’t the time for?—”

His lips cut off my protest .

I jerk back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “What the fuck, Alex? Now? Here?”

But he’s not looking at me anymore. His eyes are fixed on something behind me, and his half-smile has nothing to do with the kiss.

“Oh, this is good material!” Mia calls.

I spin around to see Jack standing inside the dead subject’s cell while Mia hovers at the threshold. Peter’s across the hall in another one, his small camera recording the motionless figure.

“Are you kidding me?” My voice scrapes out like sandpaper. “Get out of there! Now!”

“Relax, Doc. Dude’s super dead.” Jack pokes the subject’s arm with a pen. “See? No reaction.”

My stomach drops through the floor. “That’s not?—”

“Holy shit, this one’s got restraints,” Peter calls from the other cell. “Why restrain a corpse?”

Yes… Why? It doesn’t make sense.

Alex’s hand catches my wrist. “Sofia, calm down. We need this footage.”

Jack leans closer to the subject, his camera inches from the gray face. “Can you get a sample or something? Blood? Tissue?”

The words barely leave his mouth when the subject’s eyes snap open—milky white, pupils contracted to pinpoints. A gurgling sound bubbles from its throat.

No… He’s supposed to be dead. Dead. Like really fucking dead.

“What the fuck!” Jack’s shoulder blades slam against the cell wall as the subject jerks upright with unnatural speed, spasmodic yet purposeful.

“Get out!” I scream.

He scrambles toward the door, sneakers squeaking against the tiles, but the subject is faster, fingers curled like claws latching onto his forearm with a wet slap. Blood sprays across the sterile white floor, spattering the walls.

“That’s not possible…” Am I dreaming?

The virus.

The fucking compliance virus.

“The footage!” Mia stretches her arm toward the expensive equipment, fingers trembling just inches from Jack’s abandoned camera. “Fuck!”

I lunge forward, but Alex yanks me back, his fingers digging into my skin. “Don’t?—”

Jack’s scream becomes a wet gurgle as the subject—the thing—tears into his throat next with blackened teeth. His body convulses, legs kicking against the floor tiles.

“Guys?” Peter turns, camera still rolling. “What’s happening?”

The subject in his cell twitches.

“Behind you!” I point over his shoulder.

He pivots, camera swinging wildly. “What the?—”

The restraints snap as the subject charges at him, teeth sinking into Peter’s shoulder, ripping through his lab coat and into flesh.

“Run. Now!” Alex drags me backward.

“But they’re?—”

“They’re dead,” he hisses in my ear. “You can’t help them.”

Think! Containment protocols. Isolation procedures. “The security door—down the hall—we can seal it!”

Mia rushes toward us, face pale and sweaty, the precious stupid camera in hand. “Oh god, oh god, they’re?—”

The subject who attacked Jack looks at us, blood and tissue dripping from its chin. It releases him, his body crumpling to the floor.

“Run!” I grab Mia’s arm. “We need to seal this section!”

Alex is already moving, sprinting down the corridor toward safety.

The subject that killed Peter shuffles out of the cell, head cocked like it’s listening.

Mia’s feet finally catch up with her brain, and we run after Alex, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Behind us, low moans fade beneath the pounding of our footsteps and the shriek of an alarm I didn’t trigger.

“In here!” I shove them through the door, slamming my palm against the emergency lockdown button. The reinforced door slides shut with a pneumatic thunk, security bolts engaging with a series of metallic clicks.

What have I done? What the fuck have I done?