Perfect Assimilation: Evolution of a Shapeshifting Slime!

The estate had emptied of voices.

The corridor outside Damien’s study had been swept clear by the night staff an hour ago, and a pinpoint silence followed there except for the occasional sounds of scribbling.

Damien sat behind his desk. The desk was wide and dark, polished to perfection. His right hand moved as he continued writing.

It was an old habit despite the advancement of technology. Damien preferred this way. It made him feel more grounded.

A glass of amber liquid sat at his elbow, untouched. The window behind him showed a slice of the city skyline.

Towers of light. The Inner Walls glowed white against the dark. The Outer Walls were a duller orange in the distance, the way they had glowed every night for as long as he had been mayor.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Come."

Alex entered. The old butler’s face was the same face he had worn for thirty years. Calm. Empty of judgment. He did not wait for an invitation to sit. He had earned the right not to wait. He took the chair across from Damien, set his hands on his knees, and waited.

"Speak."

Alex began the way he always began. He spoke with observation rather than analysis.

"She is small for her age. She holds her shoulders straighter than most children would. She did not flinch when you took her hand."

"Continue."

"That means she is unused to the differences in human touch. This made me wonder what made her this way. Was she..."

"Was she?" Damien paused his writing without looking up. His fingers trembled slightly, making the ink spill a bit on the paper.

"...taken advantage of by someone, and taught to believe it is normal."

The temperature in the room cooled down considerably.

"Continue," Damien said through his teeth.

"She does not know which fork to use, but she does not ask. She watches her mother and copies. It feels like she is used to learning everything herself."

"Continue."

"She liked the soup more than she let on. She liked the chocolate more than the soup. She has not eaten dessert before tonight."

Damien’s hand tightened around the glass. Alex’s voice stayed gentle, the way it always stayed gentle when he was delivering something hard.

"She is happy at small things. She did not know that water comes warm from a tap. She watched her bedroom ceiling for a long minute before she lay down. She is happy to have a ceiling."

Damien set the glass down.

"Do not enter her room from now onwards."

"Noted." Alex nodded.

"How old is she, Alex?"

"Sixteen, by the medical estimate."

"Sixteen years."

"Yes, Master."

Damien closed his eyes.

"Where was I, Alex? For sixteen years, where was I?"

"Master was not informed."

"That is not what I asked."

"Master was here. Working. Building. Doing what Master does."

"And she was eating what she could catch."

Alex did not answer. He did not need to. The silence was the answer. Damien opened his eyes. They were wet.

Alex had worked for this man for thirty years. This was the second time he had seen those eyes wet. The first had been the day Sarah agreed to marry him.

A long moment passed before Alex spoke again.

"Master."

"Yes."

"Her answers at dinner were truthful by the markers I read. There is no lie in them."

"Hm."

"However." Alex paused.

Damien lifted his head.

"She is too innocent for someone who survived in the Outer Walls." Alex wore a confused expression. This was the first time Damien was seeing such an expression on the old man.

"...and she seems to read minds."

"What?" Damien furrowed his brows.

"I think it may be because of her trait. She understands others by their facial expressions."

Damien leaned back in his seat. "Then she cannot understand me. I have to learn how to make expressions."

"Tomorrow morning the acting Mayor will interview her in this house."

"Yes, Master."

Alex rose. He bowed slightly and moved toward the door. At the door, he paused.

"Master."

"Yes."

"She does not seem afraid of you."

Damien looked up. He had not heard a sentence land in his chest like that in many years.

"She does not?" Damien’s cold voice contained a bit of happiness.

Alex closed the door behind him. Damien sat alone in the study. The amber glass remained on the desk. He did not drink it.

He turned his chair toward the window and looked out at the city, and on his emotionless face, a small smile graced.

Though it looked like a grin rather than a genuine smile.

*

* *

Dawn arrived as a pale grey light through the window of Ayla’s room. Ayla had not slept. She had spent the night with Kenji building the cover story.

He had left at the third hour. The remaining hours had passed in the slow, methodical drilling of names, streets, smells, and faces.

The childhood she had constructed sat in her mind now with the weight of something she had lived.

She could pull a memory of a particular bakery on a particular corner without effort, complete with the smell of yeast and the sound of an old vendor’s cough.

A soft knock came at the door. Sarah entered with the same energy she had brought to the hospital. The energy had not depleted overnight.

"Up, my love. We have a long morning. The Mayor arrives in two hours. Breakfast is set. Your dress has been pressed."

"My dress."

"Of course your dress. We bought three last night. The blue one is for today. It will bring out your eyes."

The dress had not existed yesterday. It had been tailored by someone who worked through the night. It fit her exactly. She descended the stairs in pale blue.

The dining room had been reset for breakfast. Lighter linens. Fresh fruit. A pot of dark tea. The morning sun came through the tall windows in clean panels.

Damien rose when Ayla entered. The gesture was small. Old fashioned. Entirely unselfconscious. Sarah’s eyes brightened at the sight of it.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Father."

The word Father had not been used between them yet. It landed the way Mother had landed last night. Damien did not let his face move. His mind was not as composed.

’She called me Father. She called me Father.’

The thought repeated three times before settling. Kenji was already at the table. His face showed a night without sleep. Sarah scolded him briefly.

"You look terrible."

"I am fine, Mother."

"You look terrible."

"Thank you, Mother."

Damien glanced at his son.

He has been awake all night. With her. What did they discuss?

The thought was loud in the Twin Lens. Damien did not ask the question aloud. The breakfast moved at Sarah’s pace, which was the pace of a woman determined to settle a daughter into a routine before the daughter could realize she had been settled.

Ayla ate the pastries one at a time, in the order Sarah pointed at them. She drank the tea with both hands around the cup.

She watched the way Sarah held the small fruit knife and copied it on her second strawberry.

After breakfast, Sarah pulled Ayla aside in the foyer.

"Sit straight. Answer politely. Do not let the Mayor rush you. If a question feels uncomfortable, look at me. Mother will handle it."

"Yes, Mother."

"She is the Mayor, Ayla, but she is also a woman who once owed your father a favor."

"Oh..." Ayla had no idea what a favor was, but she nodded anyway.

"He has many favors out. That is how this city works."

Ayla filed the information. Alex entered the foyer with quiet steps. He carried a small silver tray with two cups of tea, one for Ayla, one for Sarah. His eyes met Ayla’s briefly. Alex bowed.

"The Mayor’s vehicle has entered the drive. She will be at the door in three minutes."

Damien arrived at the foyer with Kenji a step behind. The family arranged itself in a loose receiving line. Sarah was at the front. Damien was beside her. Ayla was between them. Kenji was to the side. Sarah took Ayla’s hand and squeezed it.

"Whatever happens, you are mine. The Mayor cannot change that."

Ayla looked up at her. The Twin Lens read what the face was hiding.

If she tries to take this child from me, I will break her. Gold rank or not.

The face above the thought was calm. The thought beneath the face was not. Ayla decided she liked Sarah a little more than she had yesterday.

The double doors of the Hayashi foyer swung inward. Salma Al Mansari stepped through. She was shorter than Ayla herself.

But what agitated Ayla was that her fake father did not say she was weak while looking at the woman.

Rather he thought, ’what a powerful presence. She is stronger than before’.

Ayla felt dissatisfied by it. Obviously her dissatisfaction projected to the newcomer. Salma Al Mansari wondered what she did that made the little girl show such hostility towards her.

’Is it because I am prettier than her?’

Ayla’s eyes widened further.

"Hey. I suppose you are Ayla?" Salma showed a smile that did not reach her eyes. "You do not look like your parents."

Sure enough, this woman was bad. Sarah’s hand on her arm tightened.