Page 22 of No One’s Daughter

Who was I?

How?

I had no memory of anything out of the ordinary. Who had done this to me? Had anyone done it? Or had it always been there, waiting? Had I been born a monster?

The thought unsettled me more than anything else so far.

I looked back at the quiet street, the world slowly beginning to stir at its edges, and for the first time since all of this began, the confusion settled deeper.

I had too many questions and no one to answer them.

CHAPTER NINE

Davien

WE RODE THROUGH the city, racing the looming sunrise to the Ninth’s Skyward Tower. It stood in the heart of the city—glass and steel rising into the early morning sky, its mirrored surface catching the first light of dawn and threatening us with it in cold, fractured reflections. To anyone passing, it was just another corporate structure. Finance, perhaps, or tech. Something important, something dull.

​Humans walked past it every day without a second glance.

​Which was precisely the point.

​I slowed my motorcycle, following Marlette as we pulled into the underground access, the light of the city dulling as we descended beneath it. The air felt different down here, more controlled. Filtered.

​Contained.

​I came to a stop beside Marlette, cutting the engine without comment. For a moment, neither of us moved.

​Then we dismounted in silence.

​The entry point was seamless—no visible guards in uniform, no visible security. Just a smooth stretch of reinforced glass and steel that responded as we approached, parting without sound.

​Permission granted.

​We quickly made our way up onto the main floor.

​The lobby was vast, open in design, all polished floors and towering tinted glass walls that allowed the city to remain visible at every angle. Filtered light poured in from the rising sun, casting long reflections across the immaculate surface.

​We crossed the lobby without speaking. No one stopped us, but I was acutely aware of being seen. Not by eyes alone. The building itself registered any and all presence, cataloguing it with its extensive surveillance tech. The Ninth didn’t need walls to confine, its surveillance simply reminded you that you were already contained.

​By the time we reached the security threshold, the atmosphere had shifted entirely. The glass gave way to smaller windows and darker materials—steel, matte surfaces, colder, more clinical lighting. The illusion of openness was stripped away step by step.

​“Name?” came the voice as we stepped up to the checkpoint. No visible speaker as usual.

​We gave our names then paused on bated breath.

​“Proceed.”

​The process was routine and we were well used to it. That didn’t make it any more pleasant though.

​I removed my blade first, placing it on the recessed surface before me. The panel lit faintly beneath it, scanning, cataloguing. Marlette did the same beside me, her movements as precise as ever.

​Firearms followed.

​Everything had to be surrendered.

​Accounted for. The body scan came next.

​It moved through us rather than over us. A low, invasive pressure that pressed against bone, searching for irregularities, for anything out of place. It lingered just long enough to remind you that nothing here escaped scrutiny.