She started up the stairs without looking back.
Lester followed three steps behind, Robert bouncing lightly against his chest.
Halfway up she glanced over her shoulder, saw the gap, and reached down without slowing.
Her fingers closed around his wrist—firm, warm, unyielding—and pulled him up the rest of the way.
"You've got quite the grip," he muttered.
She only smiled and kept walking.
The second-floor hallway was dimmer, the bass from downstairs reduced to a distant pulse.
Half-open doors flashed past—couples pressed against walls, hands under clothes, a bed left carelessly ajar.
Every sound made the back of his neck burn.
She didn't stop until the last door on the left stood open.
She pulled him inside and shut it with her heel.
Small guest bedroom with a mirror on the wall.
Unmade bed.
Single lamp.
No one else.
Just the two of them.
She turned, still holding his wrist, voice soft.
"You look nervous."
Lester forced the words out.
"I… suppose I am.A bit.
This is not exactly how I imagined the evening continuing."
She stepped closer until her tank top brushed his chest.
One hand slid up his arm and rested against the side of his neck.
Say something,Anything.
As if she could tell what he was thinking just by looking at his face, she said.
"It's okay.
You don't have to say anything."
She rose onto her toes, mouth near his ear.
"Just drop your pants."
His hands moved before he could think.
Button.
Zipper.
Fabric sliding down.
Trousers hit his ankles with a soft thud.
She chuckled—low, pleased—and sank to her knees in one smooth motion.
Pixie-cut golden-chestnut hair framed her face as she settled.
She looked up at the front of his boxers.
"Time to eat."
She hooked her fingers under the waistband and pulled them down.
Then she coughed.
Lester wasn't hard.
The soft length of him just hung there, useless.
Heat flooded his face so fast his eyes watered.
He gave a small, awkward chuckle.
"Give me a moment.
I… ah… this is not usually an issue.
Just—wait."
His hand moved once, twice, desperate and clumsy.
Nothing.
You can't do this to me.
Not now.
You never failed to get up in 400 days in a row and now you decide to quit.
She's going to think you're not into her.
She's going to think she's ugly.
Or worse—
Soft footsteps approached the open doorway.
A flash of blur stormed in.
Skye stepped into view.
Lester's face immediately scrunched up, pure dislike twisting his features.
The girl on her knees looked up, expression flat and unimpressed.
"Seriously?You pick the worst times to pick a fight, I'll just kill you at this point?"
Skye's eyes moved from the girl to Lester—trousers down, bandage crooked, camera still hanging against his bare stomach—then back.
"You."
Get away from her.
"Now."
He didn't move.
His voice came out cold and sharp.
"Why should I do that?
If you want a drama go downstairs and bother some other people?"
"I haven't come here to cause drama she's dangerous.
You need to leave, right now before its too late."
Lester's scrunched expression only tightened further.
"Dangerous?,that's rich coming from you.
You're the one who shoved someone into me and then stood there crying fake tears while I got slammed against a wall.
At least she came to check up on me and apologise.
You just vanished with Chase."
Skye's jaw clenched.
"I didn't shove anyone.
You're the one who wasn't watching where you were going."
"Help?"
He almost laughed, the sound bitter.
"You framed me in front of half the party and now you barge in here like you own the place.
Spare me the concern."
Mira stayed on her knees, watching the exchange with lazy interest.
"You two always this fun, or is this a special occasion?"
Skye ignored her and stepped further into the room.
"I'm not lying.
Just trust me.
She's not safe to be alone with."
"Trust you?"
Lester's voice rose, sharp with genuine anger.
"After everything?
You were part of why the statue fell in the first place.
You shoved her into me, then pretended you had nothing to do with it.
Don't you dare stand there and talk about trust."
Skye shook her head hard.
"That's not what happened.
You're twisting it.
I was just standing there when you—"
Lester tore the strip of towel from his forehead.
The shallow cut was still red and open.
He pointed at it.
"This is real.
Yours wasn't."
He nodded at the white bandage on her face.
"Take it off.
Now."
She hesitated.
"Take it off."
She peeled the bandage free and let it drop.
No cut.
No bruise.
Not even a scratch.
Lester's expression didn't soften.
He reached into the side pocket of the trousers still pooled around his ankles, pulled out the small black-and-white print, and threw it at her.
The frame from downstairs—Skye's fingers parted just enough, eyes dry, face unmarked, that brief flash of raw guilt.
She caught it.
Her eyes locked on the image on the print.
For a second her face went completely still.
She could tell she was caught.
Skye stared at the print a moment longer, then exhaled through her nose, the last of the denial leaving her.
"It's clear you aren't going to believe a word I say."
He didn't deny that.
She reached into her back pocket, pulled something out, and threw it at him underhand.
"But maybe you will believe your own work."
Lester barely caught it.
A second black-and-white print.
Same film stock.
Same soft grain.
The shot from downstairs.
In the print the human face was gone.
Dark curved horns rose from her temples.
A long thin tail coiled behind her.
That… cannot be real.
But it was.
Due to the surge of AI, it was easy to make edited photos like this.
But the problem was were this print came from, there were many things he wasn't sure of in this world.
But a print made by Robert, he would be able to tell if it was tampered or from another camera
Even on his death bed he couldn't fail to distinguish.
The girl..entity still kneeling smiled, slow and unbothered.
After observing the look on his face, it sighed.
"Looks like I can't keep acting."
The air shimmered once.
Human face stayed.
The rest of the disguise fell away—dark curved horns, slender tail that flicked once against the floorboards, faint scent of something warm and sweet.
It looked up at him, still on her knees, and smiled wider.
"Boo."
Lester took one automatic step back.
His calves hit the edge of the bed.
Horns.
Tail.
The photograph was accurate.
This is actually happening.
Skye's voice cut in, hard.
"Now move out of the way, I'll handle this."
"No."
Skye stared.
"Why?"
"I don't want to be saved by you."
The words came out quiet but venomous.
"I'd rather die than owe you a single thing."
"Lester, listen to me.
She's going to—"
"I heard you the first time."
He kept his eyes on Mira, forcing himself to speak even though his throat felt tight with anger.
"You will die."
He gave a small, tired shrug, still glaring at Skye over his shoulder.
"A man has to die some way, right?
I think this is one of the better deaths.
Especially if it means I don't have to listen to you for another second."
He started shuffling forward again, trousers still tangled around his ankles, both prints pinched between his fingers.
It watched him come closer.
"Can I know your name?" he asked, voice a little rough but still polite."Since you're going to kill me."
Its smile softened into something almost fond.
"Mira."
She shifted on her knees, thighs pressing together once.
"And you're being a very good boy right now.
Skye's voice rose behind him, sharp with frustration.
"It's your life.
But I just have to ask—do you like them with extra sausage bits?"
Lester froze.
"…What?"
"Take a closer look at the front of the photo you just caught small dick."
He looked down again.
In the black-and-white frame, right at the front of Mira's shorts, the bulge was clear and heavy.
His eyes lifted to the real Mira still kneeling in front of him.
The same bulge strained against the thin fabric of her shorts, large and impossible to ignore now that he knew to look.
The blood drained from his face so fast the room tilted.
One single word slammed into the front of his mind, cold and final.
Futa.