Page 200 of Damsel in Disguise

He doesn’t turn to face me. He simply watches the television screen where Ariella is dancing with me, seamlessly matching my steps.

It’s a candid recording going viral on the internet.

Not going to lie, from the third point of view, we do look… good—the touch of white in a black pit of yin-yang.

“I was trying to earn her trust,” I answer evenly.

“Earn her trust,” he repeats, almost thoughtfully, and turns to face me. “Or lose yours?”

The question lands harder than any accusation.

His composure resets as though the outburst never existed.

“Why weren’t you wearing your Dominion watch?” he asks with terrifying calmness.

The wrist feels strangely exposed.

The watch has never simply been a watch. Its identification, surveillance, jurisdiction, and loyalty forged into polished black metal. I wear it during operations. I wear it while teaching. I wear it while sleeping.

There have even been nights I woke from nightmares and reached for it before remembering where I was.

Removing it isn’t against protocol. It’s rejecting it.

“I was testing whether the subject could mimic my operational patterns without technological guidance,” I explain. “If Ariella is reacting to behavioural stimulus rather than Dominion infrastructure, then—”

“Enough,” the single word detonates through the laboratory.

Had the security doors not been sealed, half the floor would’ve heard it.

The music continues playing in the background.

Somehow, that makes it worse.

“You breached Garden,” he says, taking one measured step toward me. “Without my authorization. You removed the one device that allows the Dominion to account for your position. Then you deliberately created a blind spot inside a system that was built to ensure blind spots never exist.”

His head tilts ever so slightly. “Do you have any understanding of what the other Triarchs would do if they discovered the only heir to this organization is testing his limits?”

I meet the dark hollows of the mask. “They won’t.”

He nods quietly. “I’m standing here before anyone else had the opportunity.”

I know what he’s not saying. Victor would classify this as a deviation. Luca would classify it as a liability. Both conclusions end the same way—the end of my existence.

“She’s becoming attached,” I reply. “The trust she places in me can still be redirected toward the Dominion.”

“And what about the trust you are placing in her? You‘re letting your feelings interfere with your calculations.”

The clinical statement should offend me. Instead, it unsettles me.

The absence of an answer lingers.

He walks past me and stops beside the decoy resting on the workbench.

“My best creation,” he takes off my Dominion watch from its wrist, then walks in my direction,” Do not force me to decide whether you are still one,” he slaps the watch on my chest.

My jaw clenches as I grab it before it falls on the floor.

When he speaks again, his voice carries the weight of a final authority. “You’ve six hours, starting now. You’ll bring Ariella Keinston here,” a pause. “Sedated and ready to initiate the conversion right away,” another pause. “Do not mistake my patience for weakness again.”