24991127 | 0822
Manor 03 | Changi Seafront | People’s Republic of Singapore
1°20′38.0″ N
103°59′32.0″ E
The sea was calm that morning.
Too calm.
The tide rolled in slow, patient breaths against the rock face beneath the glass balcony. Sunlight spilled across the white masonry of the manor, filling the halls with soft radiant sunlight that spilled in, welcoming and warm.
Damian opened the door to his refrigerator and pulled up a plastic milk carton.
He poured himself a glass and drained it all in one gulp.
He set the empty glass down upon the kitchen top.
For a moment, he thought he could smell it.
White lotus. Night jasmine. Salt and sea-spray.
Soft, dangerous, unforgettable.
It clung faintly to the master bedroom upstairs, to the sheets, to the hollow where she laid resting.
He sighed.
How long has it been? A week? Two?
No. he recalled. Five days.
He had lived an entire lifetime with less clarity in the five days since she said goodbye.
He looked at his hand.
That one she had touched.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The one she had curled her fingers around his.
The way her hand felt like it belonged.
In the car.
By the dock.
In the cabin.
On the ship.
A lover’s caress.
He could still feel it.
Her soft lips.
Her warm skin.
Her breath.
Her caress.
His heart tightened.
Not for the first time since she left.
“Shirls…” he whispered.
The holo-panel activated behind him.
His daughter slipping through the channels of the holo.
“… post Heaven’s Fall, the mysterious attack that destroyed the Aquifer Water Treat…”
“…continuing coverage of the Hamad International Airport incident…”
“Prince Soren Fehr…”
He caught that bit.
Soren?
His daughter squealed excitedly from the living room.
“Daddy! Daddy! Come see! Robot girl!”
He froze.
He stepped into the living area.
His three-year-old sat cross-legged on the floor, hair wild from sleep, clutching a Cthulhu plushie as big as her.
The holo-display projected looping footage.
Gunfire, panic, people running and shouting.
A woman.
Chrome flashing under torn skin.
“It was confirmed that Shirley Tempess, EVECorp’s top cover girl…”
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Shirley.
Damian sucked in his breath.
Face split open.
Synthetic lattice exposed beneath her torn flesh.
A chrome-plated mask beneath her flesh.
One eye glowing luminous blue.
One eye twinkling storm-grey.
Fighting.
Shooting.
The trenchcoat man tearing the walker apart behind her with contemptuous ease.
Damian did not react.
He did not gasp.
He did not curse.
He simply watched.
Her entourage.
What was his name? Kurt.
His daughter pointed excitedly.
“She strong! Daddy look! She’s like She-ra!”
He swallowed.
On screen, the footage flickered.
A black angular knife, floating in the air.
A Supercarrier.
God, he never seen one.
Not even on holo.
Until now.
He smiled then.
A humorless smile.
“… Ladies and gentlemen, we have now confirmed eyewitness accounts…”
He can imagine her face.
You have a Supercarrier?
Must have slipped my mind.
He turned his attention back to the holo.
“… be advised, the following footage contain disturbing images…”
EVECorp personnel rushed her onto the Ascendant Prime.
Broken.
Leaking blood and fluid.
But alive.
Kurt and Illeana by her side.
“…that Shirley Tempess and her bodyguards are the newest generation of EVECorp’s Synthforged Enforcers…”
Her face was briefly seen looking into the camera.
He remembered her sitting at the end of his pier, feet in the water.
The way she had listened to the sea when it was quiet.
He remembered her in his bedroom.
Asking quietly.
This is where she sleeps?
He reached forward and muted the holo.
The silence felt heavier than the gunfire.
His daughter looked up at him.
“Daddy?”
He crouched and lifted her into his arms.
“What’s wrong, daddy?” she asked innocently.
She smelled like baby soap and cereal.
Warm.
Small.
Real.
He held her tighter than he meant to.
Back in his office was a package.
It had arrived yesterday.
Discreet courier.
Diplomatic channel.
Inside was the white Maison Astraria gown.
Perfectly cleaned.
Perfectly pressed.
Folded with reverence.
There was a handwritten note.
—
Damian,
I did not touch her.
And I see now she was already in love — though perhaps not with me.
The lady had asked that this be returned.
There are things in this world that cannot be taken.
You are a fortunate man.
— Soren
—
Love.
Damian stared at the handwritten note for a long time.
He let out a short breath.
Soren was many things.
He was not careless.
He was not na?ve.
He was not cruel.
And he was honorable.
Was she in love?
With him?
With the sea?
With the idea of what they were for forty-eight hours?
He looked at her now.
In the holo.
Or was it… with the life she knew she could never have?
He understood now.
The world is quieter here.
You can finally hear it.
The sea.
You used to love it.
He finally caught up.
You said people drown in light, not water. What did you mean?
Some places make you forget what matters. The lights are too bright. The noise is too loud.
You get blinded. You start looking at the wrong priorities.
But here… you can hear your own thoughts again.
Was she performing?
Was everything with her, a performance?
The world, a stage.
He replayed the footage in his mind.
Chrome under skin.
A machine.
A construct.
A Synthforged.
He remembered her whispering in the car:
You don’t have to save me, darling.
He had offered to leave his wife.
He had meant it.
God, he had meant it.
Now, holding his daughter – he realized how close he came to throwing it all away.
She had refused.
Not because she was incapable of love.
But because she understood consequence.
Because she understood what he would destroy.
Because she understood what she would destroy.
He carried his daughter to the balcony.
The sea glittered under the late morning sun.
“Daddy sad?” she asked.
He shook his head gently.
“No.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“I’m thinking.”
She looked at him very seriously.
“Robot girl okay?”
He paused.
He looked back toward the silent holo.
Then toward the sea.
“She’s strong, like She-ra,” he said softly. “She’ll be okay.”
Would she?
Did it matter if she was steel under skin?
He remembered her in the sunlight on the Elysium Winds.
Laughing.
Teasing.
Watching him like he was the fragile one.
He remembered her telling him:
Different doesn’t always mean better.
He had thought she meant another life.
Another marriage.
Another version of him.
Now he finally understood.
Would it have worked?
If she had been human?
If there had been no chrome?
If she could age.
Bleed.
Grow old.
Would he have still been enough?
Or would he have found another reason to drown in light?
His daughter wriggled in his arms.
“Hungry.”
He smiled faintly.
“Okay.”
He carried her inside.
“She is an abomination, an affront… “
He turned the holo off completely.
The room dimmed.
Quieter.
He set her at the table and began preparing breakfast.
Eggs.
Toast.
Simple.
Real.
As he cracked the shell, he noticed his hands were steady.
That surprised him.
He expected grief.
Rage.
Jealousy.
Instead there was something else.
Clarity.
He had been imprinted.
That was the only word for it.
She had stepped into his life like sunlight into a closed room.
She had rearranged nothing.
She had broken nothing.
She had simply shown him what mattered.
His daughter hummed to herself.
He placed the plate in front of her.
She smiled at him.
Gap-toothed.
Unfiltered.
He exhaled slowly.
He picked up his phone.
He hovered over her contact.
Shirls.
He did not call.
He did not delete it either.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Two days.
They had been lovers in every sense of the word.
Was it a transaction?
Was it a conquest?
Was it nothing more than a fantasy?
No.
He had seen her grief when Shannon mentioned Michael.
He had seen her sorrow beneath the sakura.
She declined when he offered her everything.
It was real.
It was real to him.
She was real.
He exhaled.
His chest lost its tightness.
The sea rolled in again.
His daughter finished stuffing the toast into her mouth.
She got off the stool and ran up to him, sticky fingers grabbing his hand.
“Daddy, let’s play!”
He smiled.
He knelt.
He picked her up.
That would have to be enough.
The sea wind came rushing in.
She was giggling happily.
“Lift me up, daddy!” she cried.
He smiled.
“I won’t let go.” he said softly.
A promise.
