Page 107 of Damsel in Disguise

He doesn’t ask me to sit. I do it anyway.

The chair grounds me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.

Across from me, he reaches for a tablet, already getting into business. For a second, he just holds it, his thumb resting against the edge like he’s weighing whether to hand it to me or not.

Then his eyes lift to mine. “Once you open this, you don’t go back to not knowing.”

There’s something in the way he says it that settles a dread feeling low in my stomach.

“That’s the point, right?” a nervous smile breaks free.

“No,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

I stay quiet, unable to find the proper response.

Then he leans forward and places the tablet in my hand. “Don’t scroll back twice.”

My brows draw together, confusion threading through the exhaustion.

“And don’t take any screenshots.”

“What? Why?”

His gaze locks onto mine. “If it’s what I think it is…” a deliberate pause. “We might get tracked from the most mundane actions.”

Something cold slips down my spine. Nonetheless, there’s no going back now.

The screen flickers to life the second I tap it once.

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This isn’t formatted like an article.

It’s not even structured like a report.

It feels wrong. So so wrong.

My eyes move in a frenzy over the screen—scanning, catching fragments. Does not exist… three heads… control… erased records…

I feel my pulse spiking up from raw, unfiltered terror. This is something someone tried to piece together before it disappeared.

My thumb hovers at the edge of the screen.

For a second, I almost consider closing it.

I don’t.

The screen glitches like a skipped breath.

And then….

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My whole body goes completely still. It’s as if my lungs forgot to breathe, my heart forgot to pump blood in my veins.

Synthète. Built. Not born.

“No. No, that’s—” I murmur to myself, not realizing I’ve spoken out loud.