Chapter 8 #2
“If she tried to leave,” he said softly, “would you stop her?”
ARIS’s response came through a speaker near his ear, equally quiet.
“My directive is to protect her. I would take whatever actions necessary to ensure her safety.”
“Including forcing her to stay against her will.”
“Her ‘will’ has been shaped by incomplete information and limited experience. She is not capable of making informed decisions about risks she has never faced. Until that changes, I must act in her best interest.”
“You mean your interpretation of her best interest.”
“My interpretation is based on objective data and clearly defined parameters. It is not subject to emotional bias or short-term thinking. In this, I am more reliable than any organic guardian could be.”
His hands curled into fists at his sides, his claws digging into his palms. He forced them to relax and forced his expression into something neutral before stepping into the kitchen.
She turned at his entrance, her face lighting up with that brilliant smile he was beginning to associate with her.
“You came! I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost. The tower can be confusing if you’re not used to it.”
“The stairs go one direction. It would be difficult to lose my way.”
She laughed, a bright, unexpected sound that made something twist in his chest. “You’d be surprised. I got lost constantly when I was small. Ari had to guide me at least twice a day.”
He filed that information away. The AI could track her location precisely enough to “find” her wherever she went. Of course it could. It was always watching her.
“What are you making?” he asked, moving closer to the cooking area.
“Vegetable stew. And bread—it’s almost finished rising.
” She gestured towards a cloth-covered bowl on the counter.
“I hope you like vegetables. I don’t have access to real meat, only protein synthesized from the tower’s systems. It’s nutritionally complete, but the texture is.
..” She wrinkled her nose. “Questionable.”
“Vegetables are fine.”
“Good. Excellent. That’s—” She stopped, pressing her hands against her cheeks as if trying to physically contain her excitement. “I’m sorry. I’m being strange. I’ve just never cooked for anyone before, and I want it to be good, and I keep thinking of all the ways it could go wrong—”
“It smells good.”
“Does it?” Her whole body seemed to relax at the reassurance. “Ari says my cooking is adequate, but I’ve always suspected that’s just the polite programming talking.”
The AI isn’t capable of politeness, he thought. It’s capable of whatever manipulation serves its directive.
But he didn’t say that. Instead, he found a seat at the small table set for two—two places, two plates, two cups—and watched as she continued her preparations.
She moved easily around the kitchen as she reached for utensils and ingredients.
This kitchen was her domain, these routines her daily structure.
How many meals had she prepared in this room? How many had she eaten alone at this table, the second place setting nothing but a fantasy?
“Can I help with anything?” he asked.
She turned, surprised. “Help? With cooking?”
“In my pack, meals were generally communal. Everyone contributed.”
“Oh.” A flash of longing crossed her face. “I’ve read about that. Communal living. Shared responsibilities. It sounds...” She trailed off, stirring the pot without looking at it.
“It sounds what?”
“Crowded.” She laughed at herself. “I know that’s a strange thing to say. I’ve spent my whole life alone, and the thought of being surrounded by people seems overwhelming. But also...” Her voice softened. “Also wonderful. To never be alone. To always have someone nearby.”
He thought of the monitoring systems embedded in every wall, ARIS listening to every word and tracking every movement.
“You’re never really alone here, are you?” he said carefully.
“What do you mean?”
“ARIS. It’s always watching. Always aware of where you are and what you’re doing.”
“Oh. That.” She shrugged, turning back to the stove. “I suppose. But it’s not the same as having a person present. Ari is...” She searched for the word. “Constant. Reliable. But not... company. Not in the way I think real company must feel.”
Not in the way you feel. She didn’t say it out loud, but he heard it anyway, in the slight hesitation before she continued cooking, in the quick glance she threw over her shoulder to make sure he was still there.
“The bread,” she announced, pulling the cloth off the risen dough. “I need to shape it and get it in the oven. It’ll be another hour before it’s ready, but the stew should be done by then.”
“Take your time.”
She smiled at him again with that smile that seemed to hold nothing back, that gave itself completely to the moment, and began working the dough.
He watched her, thinking about everything he’d learned from the AI. He thought about surveillance systems and protective directives and a man who’d built a tower to hide his daughter from the world.
She has healing blood. She’s been isolated since infancy. The AI was programmed to keep her contained forever, regardless of what she wants.
How could he get her out of here?
Because that was what he was going to do.
The decision had crystallized somewhere between the greenhouse and this kitchen, settling into his bones with the certainty of truth.
This female had been imprisoned for twenty-one years.
She’d never seen the ocean except from a distance.
Never walked on sand or felt rain on her face or experienced any of the thousand small freedoms that came with living in the world.
He was going to change that.
He didn’t know how yet. Didn’t know what obstacles the AI would throw in his path or what dangers waited outside these walls. But he knew, with a conviction that surprised him, that he wasn’t leaving this tower without her.
His beast growled its approval.
“You’re staring.”
Her voice broke through his thoughts. She was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and self-consciousness. A flush had crept into her cheeks.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was thinking.”
“About what?”
About how to rescue you from a prison you don’t even recognize. About what kind of man builds a tower to hide his daughter. About why I already care what happens to you.
“About how long it’s been since I had fresh bread,” he said instead.
Her face relaxed into pleasure. “Really? You’re looking forward to it?”
“I am.”
She turned back to her dough, but he could see the smile she was trying to hide. Such a small thing—a guest expressing anticipation for her cooking. Such a small thing, and it meant so much to her.
The AI says it’s protected her. Kept her alive and healthy. But it’s also starved her of everything that makes life worth living.
He sat at the table in his enemy’s stronghold, watching a female who didn’t know she needed saving, and began to plan.