Page 216 of Damsel in Disguise

The stone panel slides aside, revealing a narrow corridor concealed inside the walls of the laboratory.

The Crown steps through and heads to the farthest corners of the laboratory—again, no other Triarchs in sight.

Ariella turns sharply at the movement. Her eyes move from the hidden passage to me. Then back again.

“Wow, now you’ve secret doors too?” she mocks.

The Crown studies the two of us for a long moment.

“I expected efficiency, Hertley,” his distorted voice catches her full attention.

“I encountered complications.”

His gaze settles on Ariella. “I can see that.”

“What does that have to do with me?” she asks.

“There has been an internal breach, as you’re aware,” he says to me, completely ignoring her. “Sensitive information has reached people who should never have possessed it.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“And yet the source remains unidentified.”

My eyes drift towards her before going back to the Crown. “She has spent years studying me.”

Ariella turns toward me so quickly that I almost regret speaking.

“What?”

“She knew my schedule. My research. My lectures. She appeared wherever the investigation advanced. I believe she’s the leak.”

Disbelief spreads across her face. “No… no, I don’t know anything about this place. I don’t know anything about any of you.”

“An academic obsession becoming something more,” he muses, absent-mindedly lifting a glass vessel from the workstation and slowly turning the silver liquid inside it.

“It explains several irregularities, does it not? Years spent following him, studying him, appearing wherever his work led. I warned you, Hertley, that fascination is a dangerous foundation for attachment.”

His eyes settle on me, cold and unreadable behind the mask.

“I even offered you the simplest solution. A Synthète worthy of your intellect. A woman who could belong to the Dominion entirely, who could carry your legacy without becoming a liability. Instead, you chose her.”

My jaw tightens, but I remain silent.

Ariella stares between us, shaking her head so quickly that loose strands of hair fall across her face.

Her voice trembles as she looks at me. “Alistair?” the way she says my name feels strangely unfamiliar, as though it belongs to someone else.

Then understanding begins to settle over her features.

“Last night you…” she cannot finish the thought, but she doesn’t have to.

I know exactly what she’s asking.

I know exactly what she fears.

The Crown says nothing. He simply watches.

I could deny it.