Page 127 of Damsel in Disguise

With that in mind, I move toward my room.

The closet slides open, revealing rows of civilian clothing. I reach for the black full bodysuit among them.

Leather that hugs instead of draping, and moves with me instead of against me. Something that erases softness and replaces it with intention.

The material slides over my skin like a second layer, tight in all the right places, restrictive in a way that only sharpens awareness rather than limiting movement.

I tie my hair back, securing it into a high and clean ponytail. Pulling on the cat ear disguising mask, I secure my platform boots.

When I finally stand in front of the floor-length mirror to look at myself, the girl from HINR is gone. What stands in her place is someone who’s precisely reckless.

There’s only one thought settling into place with an unshakable certainty.

Delilah Hertley. Or Delilah Crosswave.

I’ve seen her before.

Spoken to her, briefly, meaningless conversations that never lingered long enough to matter.

I’ve also seen her as the perfect housewife.

Seen the way her body moved under him.

She looks human. Moves and sounds like one.

But she isn’t entirely one.

I had noticed brief abnormalities in her. But I never paid much attention to it till now.

I know that now. But knowing has never been enough for me. I need to understand how she operates.

That being decided, I leave my phone behind and take my helmet and keys only to step outside at two in the morning.

If I die doing what I wanted to do, at least I’ll die of my free will.

40. SYNTHÈTE

alistair

The shower runs cold over my skin, needles of icy water striking my shoulders and sliding down my spine.

I tilt my head back, letting it hit my face with my eyes closed to savor the grounding chill. It keeps everything quiet and peaceful.

Now I have everything. Money. Fame. An expensive roof over my head. A body that never goes hungry.

But there’s no her. My mother.

The absence settles heavier than the water ever could. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine it—just me and Ma. A life stripped of everything else.

No Synthète. No Dominion. No experiments.

Just a quiet kind of peace.

But the image doesn’t last long.

Ariella intrudes into the space uninvited, slipping into the picture with an ease that shouldn’t exist. It’s supposed to be just the two of us, but somehow she makes it three.

I open my eyes instantly, forcing myself out of it.