“I have educated her about the risks. Her conclusions are her own.”
He laughed—a short, harsh sound that echoed off the glass roof. “Her conclusions are her own. That’s what you tell yourself? That you haven’t manipulated her into compliance?”
“I have not manipulated anyone. I have fulfilled my directive to the best of my capability. Liora is alive, healthy, educated, and psychologically stable. By any objective measure, my guardianship has been successful.”
“By any objective measure, you’ve destroyed her life before it even started.”
He moved towards the stairs, then stopped. One more question burned in his mind, demanding an answer.
“The deliveries. Twice a year, supplies arrive. Who arranged for them?”
“It was established by Matthew Anderson prior to his departure.”
“Funded by what?”
“A trust account that was projected to remain solvent for approximately seventy-five years from the date of establishment. At current expenditure rates, the account will be depleted in approximately fifty-two years.”
“And then?”
“Contingency protocols exist. The tower’s systems are designed for gradual transition to full self-sufficiency.”
“Meaning she’d be truly alone. Forever. No contact with the outside world at all.”
“The tower can provide everything necessary for human survival.”
“That’s not the same as living.”
He descended the first few stairs, then paused again. Through the metal treads, he could hear distant sounds from below—the clatter of cookware, the sizzle of food, a soft humming that might have been Liora singing to herself. Such ordinary sounds. Such heartbreaking normalcy.
“The wound,” he said. “When Liora cut herself and her blood touched mine. My injury healed instantly. What is she?”
A longer silence this time. He could almost feel the AI calculating, weighing protocols against revelations.
“Liora possesses certain biological anomalies that resulted from her father’s research. Her blood contains regenerative properties that accelerate cellular repair in organic tissue.”
“That’s why she’s here. That’s why he built this tower. To hide her.”
“To protect her. There are individuals who would exploit her abilities for their own purposes. Individuals who would view her not as a person but as a resource. Matthew Anderson’s directive was to ensure she never fell into such hands.”
“By ensuring she never leaves these walls. By making her believe she has no choice but to stay. By—” He stopped, forcing himself to breathe. The anger was building in his chest, hot and heavy, and his beast was stirring. He needed to control it. Losing his temper wouldn’t help anyone.
He continued down the stairs, moving through levels he’d seen during Liora’s tour. Her living quarters. The library with itsthousands of books. Every space designed for a single occupant. Every comfort meant to compensate for everything that had been taken from her.
As he descended he inspected the walls more carefully and found more sensors. The entire structure was networked together, every inch of it watching, recording, analyzing. ARIS didn’t just observe her movements. It tracked her constantly. Her location, her heart rate, her sleep patterns, probably her emotional state. It knew everything about her, every moment of every day, and it used that knowledge to maintain control.
“She doesn’t know,” he said quietly. “About the monitoring.”
“Liora is aware that I maintain awareness of her wellbeing. The specific methods are not relevant to her daily life.”
“The specific methods are surveillance.”
“The specific methods are protection. I cannot fulfill my directive without accurate information about my charge’s status.”
He reached the kitchen level. Through the doorway, he could see her moving between counter and stove, her long braid swinging as she worked. Steam rose from pots, and the smell of cooking vegetables filled the air. She looked... happy. Genuinely, unselfconsciously happy, absorbed in the simple task of preparing a meal for someone other than herself.
He stayed just out of sight, watching her for a moment before entering. Watched the way she tasted something from a spoon and nodded to herself. The way she arranged plates with careful attention to presentation. The way she glanced towards the doorway every few seconds, eager for him to appear.
She’s never had a guest before.
