Page 54 of The Monster's Daughter
“It’s perfect,” he says solemnly.
And I—God help me—I laugh so hard I cry.
That night,the world is quieter.
We sit on the rooftop of my apartment, watching Glimner’s aurora shimmer across the sky like oil on water. The city hums below us, alive but distant. He sits with one leg stretched, the other propped, his arm draped lazily across my shoulders.
My metal one. He doesn’t flinch.
I turn toward him, heart pounding. The words gather in my throat like glass.
“Kage,” I whisper. “There’s something?—”
He kisses me.
It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. Like he knows what I’m about to say and he can’t bear it. Like he’s trying to swallow the words before they reach the air.
And I let him.
I kiss him back. Mouth open, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, eyes burning.
I don’t stop him.
I bury the truth.
Deeper, this time.
But the silence? It’s got teeth. And I can hear it ticking.
Closer every second.
CHAPTER 32
KAGE
The immigration office smells like sweat and sterilization. There’s a mechanical voice chirping overhead, something about service numbers and line etiquette, and I already want to rip it out of the ceiling.
Instead, I sit.
Too tall for the waiting room chairs. Knees jammed up, tail curling under the molded plastic like a beast trying to make itself smaller. The receptionist gave me a pamphlet called “Cultural Courtesy for Non-Natives,” like I don’t already know how many ways they expect me to grovel. I thumb through it anyway. Pretending. That’s what they want.
“Grolgath male—Kage?”
My name sounds wrong coming out of the speaker. Flat. Lifeless. I rise and the room hushes for half a beat, like they’re waiting for me to growl or snarl or crush something with my claws.
I don’t.
I follow the nurse through pale blue corridors that smell like recycled air and perfumed bleach. She doesn’t look back at me, not even once, even though I can feel her skin crawl when I get too close. Like she thinks the scales might rub off. Infect her.
“In here,” she says, gesturing to a sterile cube lined with machines that beep like they’re bored.
She gestures to a bench that looks like it was made for someone half my size. I crouch instead.
“We’ll begin with basic vitals and a full nanite screen. Just a precaution. Glimner has strict import restrictions on hostile AI residue.”
I grunt. Let her think it’s consent.
The scanner hums to life. Red lights glide over my chest, my arms, my spine. I can feel them searching under skin and scale, reading things I don’t even want to remember.
