For approximately thirty seconds, nobody touched anything.
The note remained in Amelia’s hand.
CUTE LITTLE PET Three words.
No threat, name, or explanation—which somehow made them worse.
If someone had written: I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE.
At least the intention would have been clear.
Threat.
Enemy.
Respond accordingly.
But cute little pet?
That sounded amused.
Casual.
Like whoever had entered Room 317 considered sneaking past ARB agents, breaking into our dorm, examining my enclosure, and leaving a message to be entertainment.
I hated confident people.
Mostly because they usually had reasons for being confident.
Mayra looked toward the locked door.
“Should we leave?” Amelia didn’t answer.
Her attention remained on the paper.
I hovered near her shoulder.
The scent she had detected meant nothing to me.
Paper, human skin oils, something faintly botanical, perhaps dust.
My senses were excellent at finding blood.
Apparently detecting disguised supernatural predators required a different subscription package.
“Codex.” The interface appeared.
“Can you detect anything unusual on the note?” — Analyzing.
— A pause.
— Trace biological residue detected.
Multiple human environmental contaminants present.
Additional donor signature: Insufficient sample.
— “Can you tell whether the person was human?” — No.
— Useful as always.
Amelia turned the paper over.
Blank.
Held it toward the light.
Nothing.
Then she placed it flat on the desk and rested two fingers beside it.
Her eyes closed.
Cold gathered.
Not much.
Just enough to form a faint white haze around her fingertips.
Mayra watched.
“So what are you doing?” “Looking for a residual spiritual imprint.” “Can you find one?” “If they were careless.” The implication was obvious.
Someone capable of assuming human form probably wasn’t careless.
Amelia’s breathing slowed.
The frost crawled across the desk.
Stopped before touching the paper.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then her eyes opened.
“Nothing.” Mayra somehow looked both relieved and more worried.
“Nothing good or nothing bad?” “Nothing.” “I hate that answer.” So did I.
Amelia folded the note and placed it inside a plastic specimen bag.
Mayra stared.
“You have specimen bags?” “I attend university.” “Normal students have pencils.” “Your standards are irrelevant.” Mayra looked at me.
“She definitely had those before you, right?” I shrugged.
Probably.
Amelia walked around the room.
Checked the window.
Locked.
No damage.
The new screen untouched.
Bathroom.
No disturbance.
Vent cover still sealed.
Drawers.
Nothing missing.
My enclosure had been opened and closed.
That was it.
Whoever entered had known exactly what they wanted to touch.
The thought made my exoskeleton feel too thin despite the reinforcement.
Amelia stopped near the window.
“Mayra.” “Yeah?” “Did you tell anyone about Plenteaful?” Mayra’s expression changed immediately.
“No.” “Anyone.” “No.” “Keyana?” “No.” “Sam?” “No.” “Keyan?” “Absolutely not.” I approved of the emphasis.
Mayra crossed her arms.
“I made jokes about having a mosquito before I knew the truth.
That’s it.” Amelia nodded.
“I believe you.” Mayra’s irritation softened.
Then she pointed toward me.
“Did you tell anybody?” I stared.
She realized.
“Right.” No phone.
No speech.
No social-media presence.
One advantage.
Mayra looked at Amelia.
“What about you?” “No.” “So how did they know?” Silence.
That was the question.
Had they watched us?
The greenhouse?
The dorm?
ARB?
Could they sense Amelia’s blood?
Could they sense me?
The note specifically mentioned pet.
That suggested they’d observed our relationship.
Or at least the enclosure.
But the moth scales— that was different.
Whoever left them might have known I was collecting them.
Which meant observation went deeper than one glance into Room 317.
I moved toward the tiny gray scales.
They rested on a white sheet of paper.
The Codex confirmed the same moth lineage we’d sampled at the greenhouse.
No new information.
But maybe that was the message.
I saw you.
Not just here.
There.
My front legs stopped moving.
Amelia noticed.
“What?” I flew to the notebook.
Spelled: G R E E N H O U S E Mayra’s face changed.
“Oh.” Amelia stared at the scales.
Then understood.
“They may have watched us there.” One buzz.
Yes.
Mayra looked toward the window again.
“That’s somehow much worse.” Yes.
Someone had followed us.
Or been there before us.
Either way— we had not noticed.
That bothered me more than the note itself.
Small, fast, quiet, built for reconnaissance—those were supposed to be my advantages.
Yet someone had observed the three of us without being detected by Amelia or me.
I did not enjoy being out-mosquitoed by a humanoid beast.
Amelia must have reached the same conclusion.
“We change our routines.” Mayra nodded immediately.
“No more obvious late-night trips.” Good.
“We don’t discuss sensitive things beside open windows.” Good.
“We treat all public spaces as potentially observed.” Less good, but necessary.
Mayra lifted one finger.
“And maybe stop labeling the mosquito house.” She picked up the sign.
Plenteaful — DO NOT DISTURB I stared at her.
Yes.
Definitely.
Mayra removed it.
“Fair.” Then she picked up the older sign.
KEVIN’S HOUSE I used the idiot buzz.
She smiled.
“This one stays.” No.
Absolutely— Amelia took it from her.
“Neither.” I had never appreciated the former empress more.
Mayra looked betrayed.
“My craftsmanship.” “Compromised operational security.” “It’s cardboard.” “Exactly.” Amelia threw both signs into a drawer.
Excellent.
Progress.
— We did not sleep immediately.
Too much adrenaline.
Too many questions.
Mayra sat on the bed with a blanket around her shoulders.
Amelia occupied the desk chair.
I rested on the top edge of our communication notebook.
The note sat sealed nearby.
Mayra eventually asked: “So how do you know it was a spirit beast?” Amelia looked at her.
“I don’t know with certainty.” Mayra frowned.
“You sounded pretty certain.” “The residue was unusual.” “What does that mean?” Amelia thought.
Then selected her words carefully.
“Humans and beasts carry spiritual energy differently.” Interesting.
I leaned forward.
Mayra did the same.
“Even in humanoid form?” “Usually.” Amelia held up one hand.
“A transformation changes physical structure.” Her other hand touched her chest.
“It does not completely rewrite the underlying soul or bloodline.” That made sense.
Foundation again.
True form beneath secondary morphology.
Mayra looked at the note.
“So you smelled animal magic.” Amelia stared at her.
“No.” “Basically.” “No.” I buzzed one.
Yes.
Amelia looked betrayed.
Mayra grinned.
“Two votes.” There were only three of us.
Democracy remained dangerous.
Amelia ignored the terminology.
“The residue reminded me of high-level spirit beasts I encountered in my former life.” There.
Former life.
Mayra had learned the basic truth.
I knew more from Amelia’s nightmare.
But neither of us knew the full story.
Mayra seemed to realize the door had opened.
She hesitated.
Then asked gently: “You said you ruled somewhere.” Amelia became very still.
The room quieted.
Mayra immediately added: “You don’t have to tell us.” Us.
I looked at Amelia.
No pressure.
No question from me.
She had respected my memories.
We could respect hers.
Amelia watched both of us.
Then something changed.
A decision.
She leaned back.
“My empire was called the Winter Crown.” The name settled into the room.
Winter Crown.
Neither Mayra nor I spoke.
Amelia continued.
“It occupied the northern regions of a world called Eryndor.” Eryndor.
Another world.
A real name.
Not myth.
Not vague former-life language.
My Codex remained silent.
Apparently cosmic geography was outside its customer service department.
Amelia’s gaze became distant.
“Our territory included nine major provinces, three vassal kingdoms, and several frontier domains.” Mayra slowly lowered her blanket.
“How big is that?” “Large.” “Helpful.” Amelia almost smiled.
“Several times the land area of the continental United States.” Mayra’s mouth opened.
I stared.
She hadn’t ruled a city.
Or a country.
She had ruled something enormous.
Amelia continued as though describing someone else’s life.
“My formal title was Empress Amelia Vaelora of the Winter Crown.” Vaelora.
Not Winters.
That name sounded more like her.
Ancient.
Sharp.
Cold.
Mayra whispered: “Amelia Vaelora.” Amelia’s expression tightened faintly.
“That name is dead.” The room became quiet.
Mayra nodded.
“Okay.” No argument.
No curiosity.
Just okay.
Amelia looked at her.
Then at me.
“Winters is my name now.” I gave one buzz.
Yes.
That mattered.
Past lives shaped us; they did not own us.
Amelia’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
“I inherited the Ice Phoenix bloodline from my mother’s family.” Mayra looked fascinated.
“Was your mom an empress too?” “No.” “Queen?” “No.” “Princess?” “No.” Mayra waited.
Amelia said: “General.” Of course.
That somehow fit.
“What about your father?” Amelia’s expression became flat.
“Emperor.” Mayra blinked.
“Oh.” “Briefly.” That sounded ominous.
I decided not to ask.
Mayra apparently shared the instinct.
Amelia continued.
“I became empress after his death.” “How old were you?” A pause.
“Twenty-three.” Mayra stared.
“You ruled an empire bigger than the United States at twenty-three?” “Yes.” Mayra slowly looked at her own hands.
“I’m twenty.” Amelia nodded.
“I know.” “I forgot to submit a parking permit last week.” Silence.
I started shaking with silent laughter.
Mayra pointed at me.
“Shut up.” Long high buzz.
Idiot.
Even Amelia smiled.
For a moment, the weight lifted.
Then Mayra asked the question carefully.
“How long did you rule?” “One hundred and eighty-seven years.” Silence.
Complete.
I nearly fell off the notebook.
Mayra’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened.
“One…” She stopped.
“One hundred and eighty-seven.” “Yes.” “You were—” “Older than I look.” Mayra stared at her roommate.
The twenty-year-old college student who complained about financial graphs and refused party invitations.
A woman who had ruled for almost two centuries.
Mayra whispered: “I made you clean the microwave.” Amelia’s face became absolutely still.
I lost control.
Buzzing laughter exploded out of me.
Mayra collapsed sideways.
“Oh my God.” Amelia closed her eyes.
“Your microwave was filthy.” “You were an emperor—” “Empress.” “—and I made you scrub ramen out of a microwave.” “It required cleaning.” I landed on the desk, barely functional.
This might be the greatest information I had ever received.
Mayra was crying with laughter now.
Amelia waited.
Patient.
Deadly.
Eventually, Mayra recovered.
“Sorry.” No, she wasn’t.
Amelia knew.
She looked at me.
“You too.” I tried to stop shaking.
Failed.
Amelia had survived wars, betrayal, death, reincarnation— only to lose a battle against dried noodles.
Second lives were cruel.
— Eventually, the humor faded.
Amelia looked at the note again.
“High-level beasts lived within human society in Eryndor.” Back to the problem.
“Openly?” Mayra asked.
“Sometimes.” “People knew?” “Depends on the region.” Interesting.
“Some kingdoms recognized beast clans as independent political powers.” Mayra’s expression became delighted.
“Like werewolf countries?” “No.” “Dragon embassies?” Amelia paused.
“Actually, yes.” Mayra slapped one hand over her mouth.
I stared.
Dragon embassy.
Amazing.
Amelia regretted everything.
“There were also beasts who concealed themselves.” Her voice became serious again.
“For trade.
Intelligence.
Safety.
Crime.” I stopped.
“Assassination.” Of course.
“Some spent decades living among humans.” Mayra looked toward the dorm door.
“So this person could be anyone.” “Potentially.” That was the problem.
Professor.
Student.
Maintenance worker.
ARB agent.
Random stranger.
John Mercer.
Jose.
Keyana.
Sam.
Anyone.
No.
Don’t spiral.
Evidence first.
The visitor had been powerful enough to assume human form.
That implied advanced intelligence and energy.
Yet they hadn’t harmed us.
Hadn’t stolen anything.
Hadn’t exposed us to ARB.
They’d left a joke.
Maybe not enemy.
Still dangerous.
Amelia seemed to agree.
“If they intended immediate harm, they had opportunities.” Mayra nodded slowly.
“So they’re curious.” “Perhaps.” I pointed at myself.
Probably me.
Amelia’s eyes hardened.
“Yes.” That was uncomfortable.
A powerful beast interested in a reincarnated evolving mosquito.
Understandable.
Still uncomfortable.
Mayra asked: “What do we do if they come back?” Amelia answered: “Talk.” I almost flew away.
Talk?
She looked at me.
“Unless they show hostility.” That was surprisingly reasonable.
Mayra nodded.
“And if they’re hostile?” Amelia’s eyes became ice.
“Then we learn whether their humanoid form bleeds.” There she was.
I rubbed my front legs together.
Mayra noticed.
“Why did that excite him?” No reason.
— The conversation should have ended there.
It didn’t.
Because Mayra looked at me and suddenly asked: “Did your old world have magic too?” I stopped.
My old world?
Earth.
This world.
Probably.
As far as I remembered— no.
Normal—or what I had believed was normal.
But my memories remained incomplete.
I moved to the notebook.
Spelled: S A M E Mayra frowned.
“Same world?” One buzz.
Yes.
Amelia looked surprised.
“You were from this world.” Yes.
That detail had somehow never been explicitly clarified.
I’d said human.
Died.
Reincarnated.
But not where.
Mayra stared.
“So you didn’t come from another dimension.” Two buzzes.
No.
Amelia leaned forward.
“You lived on Earth before becoming this mosquito.” Yes.
Her interest sharpened.
“How long ago?” I paused.
That was the problem.
My memories did not include a clean date.
Technology seemed similar.
University.
Phones.
Internet.
Nothing dramatically different.
I spelled: N O T L O N G “Recent.” Yes.
“Years?” Maybe not even years.
I shrugged.
Amelia’s expression changed.
“This is unusual.” Everything about me was unusual.
Mayra asked: “Why?” Amelia looked at me.
“Most reincarnation systems I knew involved soul passage between worlds, bloodlines, or long cycles.” Interesting.
“Immediate local reincarnation into an animal body…” She frowned.
“…is uncommon.” Uncommon.
Not impossible.
Mayra looked uneasy.
“Meaning somebody did it to him?” That thought had occurred to me.
I did not enjoy hearing it aloud.
Amelia shook her head.
“Not necessarily.” But maybe.
The Codex.
Was it responsible?
Did it find me after death?
Cause reincarnation?
Why mosquito?
Random?
Chosen?
I’d asked before.
No useful answer.
My body felt suddenly smaller.
Mayra saw.
“Hey.” I looked at her.
She softened.
“We don’t have to solve that tonight.” True.
Amelia nodded.
“She’s right.” A historic moment.
Mayra smiled.
“Write it down.” “Do not.” I almost buzzed.
— Amelia asked me one final question.
“Do you miss it?” I looked at her.
“Being human.” That question again.
Different now.
After hearing she had ruled for centuries.
After learning human form might someday be possible.
After realizing another beast walked around wearing one.
Did I miss being human?
Yes.
No.
Sometimes.
I missed hands.
That answer came immediately.
Hands were incredible.
Humans had no appreciation.
Fingers.
Thumbs.
Opening jars.
Using keyboards.
Turning pages.
Holding food.
I spelled: H A N D S Mayra laughed.
Amelia stared.
“Hands.” One buzz.
Yes.
“That is what you miss most?” I thought.
Then buzzed once.
Mayra wiped tears from her eyes.
“Not family?” The question hurt.
She regretted it immediately.
“Sorry.” I looked down.
Family was different.
I missed people I couldn’t fully remember.
That pain lived somewhere deeper.
Hands were safe to joke about.
I spelled: A L S O Mayra nodded.
No more questions.
Amelia seemed to understand too.
She rested one hand on the desk.
Palm open.
Beside me.
Not asking me to climb on.
Just there.
“Then survive.” I looked at her.
Her gray-blue eyes were steady.
“Survive long enough to complain about having hands again.” Something tightened inside me.
The words were light.
Almost teasing.
But beneath them— a promise?
No.
Not promise.
Possibility.
Future.
There would be a later.
If I survived.
I walked onto her palm.
Six legs.
All mine again.
Mayra smiled.
No jokes this time.
Amelia lifted me slightly.
Two reincarnated lives.
One former empress.
One former office worker turned mosquito.
Both dead once.
Both here now.
Both still carrying people we had been.
Maybe that was why Amelia had accepted me so easily.
Not because she thought mosquito intelligence was normal.
Because she understood what it meant to wake up and realize the world had continued without the person you used to be.
She looked at the sealed note.
Then at me.
“Whatever is watching us…” Her expression hardened.
“…doesn’t get to decide what either of us becomes.” I liked that.
Very much.
The Codex appeared.
— No evolutionary event detected.
— I stared.
“Read the room.” The interface disappeared.
Amelia felt me shift.
“What?” I gave the idiot buzz.
At nobody visible.
Mayra looked around.
“Did he just insult his system?” Amelia’s eyebrows rose.
I froze.
Mayra stared.
Amelia stared.
Oops.
I had never told them the Codex had enough personality to annoy me.
Mayra slowly reached for the question notebook.
“No.” I launched from Amelia’s hand.
Conversation over.
“Plenteaful!” I flew toward the curtain.
“Does the system talk back?” No comment.
“Plenteaful!” Tomorrow.
Maybe.
Tonight, I’d revealed enough.
Behind me, Mayra groaned.
Amelia laughed softly.
And inside the drawer, sealed inside plastic— three words waited.
CUTE LITTLE PET Whoever had written them had wanted our attention.
They had it now.