Page 122

Something that wasn’t even on the market yet, but which I had managed to get my hands on through my contacts in Silicon Valley – a former college classmate, now a software developer working for the military – and due to the money I earned from my projects. Connections like that had not only afforded me this luxury but had also allowed me to purchase acoustic metamaterials and specific air filters, so that before leaving the house, all I had to do was make sure I was wearing clothes that didn’t have any traces of Azara’s scent on them.

Azara's grey eyes began to glow orange, and concern spread through my chest.

Her hand, which was clinging to my hoodie, became warm, as it had been doing more and more frequently over the past six months.

The real reason I had to fake my semester abroad.

“Wow, Kieran.” She raised an arm and stretched out one of her little fingers. “Can you feel that too?”

Dammit.

This was a sign to let her down, to distract her, if I wanted to keep my hoodie and avoid a catastrophe like the one from a few months ago.

It was a miracle that she had been so engrossed in drawing that she hadn't noticed the sun until now.

I turned and carried her back to the kitchen island in our modern, open kitchen, its furniture and parts of the windows decorated with many of Azara's drawings, making it look almost like a normal home.

However, nothing about this was normal.

In her favorite spot on the kitchen counter by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking a part of the lake lay her colored pencils, books, drawings, and some half-finished and new crafts she had made today, all scattered around.

“Kieran, why didn't we make earrings today?”

I looked at her and set her down on the countertop in front of me before reaching for the brush on the refrigerator.

If I didn't comb her hair now, she would cry again tomorrow when I had to remove tons of little hair knots.

“Because we can't make crafts every day,” I explained calmly, trying not to let her disappointed look get to me too much.

“Why not?” she probed further, forming her eyes into little critical slits.

“Because I have to work, Azara.”

She tilted her head, observing me, and let me comb her hair.

“What do you do for work?”

I chuckled softly, definitely not ready to explain it to her.

“Something was stolen from my friends,” I began, holding her hair back before reaching for one of the hair ties in the kitchen bowl. “I’m helping them get it back.”

“So, you’re a cop?”

My grin intensified.

“Sort of...” I winked at her and lowered my voice. “Only better.”

“I'd like to have friends too,” Azara sighed, resting her lower lip on her upper one as she kicked her legs back and forth. “I'd read with them and show them my gemstone collection. And all the necklaces you made with me.” She looked up, her eyes suddenly sparkling with excitement. “And I would give them self-made bracelets as gifts!”

Once again, my heart sank.

Suits Theme

Christopher Tyng

I could buy her all the ridiculous stuffed animals in the world, get her all the books she liked to read, be there for her for countless minutes, and explain to her how the world worked. Nothing changed the fact that Azara needed people who were like her. And I hated it. Because that was something I could never provide for her.

Another problem was the speed at which she acquired knowledge. At first, I had thought it was normal for a three-year-old to be able to count to a hundred and form perfect complex sentences. But as it turned out, nothing about Azara's development was normal.