Finding Halden should have been easy.
We had a name.
A university.
A biomedical research scandal.
A private security company.
A secret federal agency.
In modern society, those ingredients normally produced at least one LinkedIn profile.
Instead— nothing.
Mayra sat at her desk with three browser windows open.
“Halden doesn’t exist.” I rested on the top of her monitor.
Amelia was reading the Lot 7C notes behind us.
“That seems unlikely.” “Fine.” Mayra corrected herself.
“Halden exists specifically to annoy me.” More plausible.
She searched again.
Halden Westbridge Biomedical Nothing useful.
Halden Blackwell An orthodontist in Ohio.
A retired high-school principal.
A landscaping company in Wisconsin.
No secret biological conspirators.
Mayra added quotation marks.
Different combinations.
Old faculty lists.
Archived research grants.
Conference programs.
Government procurement records.
Still nothing.
I gave the idiot buzz.
She pointed at me.
“I’m not the one who gave himself one searchable name.” Fair.
Plenteaful was certainly distinctive.
Operationally terrible.
But distinctive.
Amelia placed a page beside the laptop.
“Marcus said Halden wanted anomalous residents screened.” Yes.
Mayra nodded.
“Which means he’s either Blackwell, ARB, or close enough to order people around both.” Not necessarily both.
Marcus had sounded like Halden possessed authority inside Blackwell’s side of the response.
Enough authority to demand screening.
Enough history with Lot 7C that Marcus specifically resented him.
Mayra typed again.
“Maybe Halden is a first name.” Amelia looked at her.
“Is that common?” “No idea.” Search.
Nothing.
“Code name?” Possible.
I buzzed once.
Mayra leaned back.
“That would explain it.” Amelia disagreed.
“People rarely use code names casually with irritated colleagues.” True.
Marcus had not said Director Halden.
Or Agent Halden.
Just Halden.
Familiar.
A real person everyone on the call knew.
Mayra tapped her nails against the desk.
“We need Marcus.” No.
Both Amelia and I reacted immediately.
Mayra frowned.
“What?” Amelia spoke first.
“Approaching Marcus directly tells him we overheard a conversation we were never meant to hear.” I buzzed once.
Exactly.
Mayra crossed her arms.
“He already knows Amelia is weird.” “Potentially anomalous.” “That’s just government language for weird.” Accurate.
“But he doesn’t know about Plenteaful.” I slowly turned toward her.
She corrected herself.
“He doesn’t know Plenteaful is actually weird.” Better.
Marcus knew the name.
Knew there was a pet mosquito.
Nothing more.
If we walked up asking about Halden— our cover would disintegrate immediately.
Mayra sighed.
“So we stalk him.” Amelia closed her eyes.
I rubbed my front legs together.
Mayra pointed.
“See?” I stopped.
Amelia looked at me.
“No.” I had not proposed anything.
“Your face proposed it.” I did not have enough face for that.
Mayra smiled.
“He can investigate.” Amelia looked toward me.
“He nearly got caught last time.” I delivered two short buzzes.
No.
Marcus had said probably a fly.
Perfect concealment.
Amelia stared.
“You remained motionless for a full minute because you thought he had detected you.” That was tactical caution.
“Which means he nearly detected you.” Semantics.
Mayra leaned toward Amelia.
“So what do you suggest?” Amelia looked at the name on our board.
HALDEN Then at another.
JOHN MERCER Her gaze stopped.
I followed it.
Marcus had said he would send logs directly to Mercer if Blackwell interfered with the East Residence sensors again.
We had assumed he might mean the John Mercer we’d already followed.
The one connected to the first dorm incident.
The one ARB had questioned.
The one who had apparently been an environmental-engineering graduate student seven months ago and was now still around campus.
He had history.
Mayra saw it too.
“John.” Amelia nodded.
“If Marcus trusts Mercer with evidence against his own people, Mercer may know who Halden is.” Mayra brightened.
“Finally.
We talk to him.” Amelia hesitated.
Then: “Perhaps.” Mayra stared.
“You’ve said no to talking to him for a week.” “Conditions changed.” “So now we can?” “Carefully.” Mayra threw both hands into the air.
I buzzed approval.
Progress.
— John Mercer had office hours on Tuesdays.
According to the university directory, his position was now listed as research instructor, environmental systems laboratory.
That explained some of the confusion surrounding him.
Graduate researcher.
Teaching appointment.
Campus research staff.
A person able to exist in several bureaucratic categories at once.
Terrifying.
His office sat in the older science building near the entomology teaching collection.
I learned this because Mayra read the room number aloud.
“Entomology wing.” I became suspicious.
Amelia noticed.
“What?” Nothing.
We walked through the building.
I remained hidden inside her hood.
Then we passed an open laboratory door.
And I saw Hell.
Rows.
Of.
Mosquitoes.
Dead.
Pinned beneath glass.
My entire body froze.
Labels beneath them.
Species names.
Collection dates.
Locations.
Some were mounted on tiny points.
Others preserved in tubes.
A poster displayed mosquito anatomy in graphic detail.
Wings.
Legs.
Proboscis.
Internal organs.
My soul left my body for the second time.
Amelia felt me press deeper into her hood.
Her head turned slightly.
Then she saw the display.
Silence.
Her shoulder began moving.
Very faintly.
She was laughing.
I delivered the idiot buzz from inside the fabric.
Mayra looked over.
“What?” Amelia’s expression remained composed.
“Nothing.” Traitor.
We continued.
Another display.
MOSQUITO VECTOR IDENTIFICATION WORKSHOP A photograph showed a researcher holding an aspirator.
Aspirator.
A tube specifically designed to suck mosquitoes into captivity.
Barbarism.
I no longer trusted science.
Mayra eventually noticed my silence.
“Is he okay?” Amelia answered: “He has discovered academia’s opinion of his species.” Mayra looked at the wall.
Then understood.
“Oh.” She started laughing.
Both of them.
Enemies everywhere.
I reconsidered the basement.
At least the centipede had been honest.
— John Mercer’s office door was open.
He sat behind a desk covered in papers, two monitors, insect-field guides, and a coffee mug reading: ASK ME ABOUT AQUATIC LARVAE I would not.
He looked up as Amelia and Mayra approached.
Recognition flickered.
He knew them?
Maybe from ARB interviews.
Maybe because we’d followed him poorly.
“Can I help you?” Mayra smiled.
“We’re from East Residence.” Recognition strengthened.
Definitely.
John leaned back.
“Third floor.” There.
Same thing Marcus had known.
Amelia’s expression did not change.
“Yes.” John looked toward the hallway.
Then back.
“Close the door.” Mayra did.
That was fast.
No pretense.
No campus small talk.
John removed his glasses.
Rubbed his eyes.
“What happened now?” Mayra and Amelia exchanged a glance.
He sounded tired.
Not suspicious.
Tired.
Amelia answered: “Nothing new.” John laughed once.
“That’s usually what people say before telling me something terrible.” I liked him.
Mayra sat.
Amelia remained standing.
“We wanted to ask about the incident seven months ago.” His expression immediately closed.
“No.” Mayra blinked.
“Wow.” John put his glasses back on.
“If you’re curious because of rumors, don’t be.” “We’re not.” “No.” “Could you at least—” “No.” Mayra looked offended.
I almost buzzed.
John pointed toward the door.
“I’ve had federal investigators, campus lawyers, risk-management people, contractors, and two separate insurance attorneys ask me about that basement.” Interesting list.
“I am not adding students to it.” Amelia spoke quietly.
“What if the students already saw the basement?” John stopped.
Complete stillness.
There.
His eyes moved to Amelia.
“What did you see?” Mayra leaned back.
Fast change.
Amelia didn’t answer directly.
“Insects gathering.” John’s face lost color.
“Where?” “Old service corridor.” “How did you get down there?” Not relevant.
Amelia continued.
“A concentrated source behind a maintenance door.” John stood.
“Did you open it?” “No.” “We heard a heartbeat.” John stared.
Long enough that my body tightened.
He knew.
Not everything.
Enough.
He sat slowly.
“Jesus.” Mayra leaned forward.
“So you saw it too.” John looked at her.
“I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to.” He closed his eyes.
Smart Mayra.
John remained silent.
Then looked toward the door again.
“Are either of you carrying phones?” Mayra held hers up.
“Yes.” “Turn them off.” She frowned.
“Why?” “Because if you’re going to keep asking questions that can get me fired, I’d prefer fewer microphones in the room.” Mayra powered hers down.
Amelia did the same.
I had no phone.
Superior species.
John waited.
Then said: “Seven months ago, I was collecting condensation data in the basement.” Mayra blinked.
“Why?” “My thesis involved moisture migration through aging utility systems.” Of course.
The most boring possible reason to discover a monster.
John continued.
“I found insects.” “Mutated?” Amelia asked.
He laughed weakly.
“At the time I called them malformed.” Reasonable.
“Roaches twice normal mass.
Beetles with abnormal shell thickness.
Larvae growing in condensate where nothing should’ve survived.” Exactly.
“I collected samples.” My respect increased.
Then: “I reported them.” My respect decreased.
Depending on outcome.
“To your supervisor?” Mayra asked.
“Environmental Health and Safety.” John nodded toward the wall.
“Three hours later, a group I’d never heard of was on campus.” “ARB.” He looked sharply at her.
So she said it.
Fine.
“Where did you hear that?” Mayra smiled.
“Research.” John stared.
“That’s not reassuring.” Amelia asked: “What did they do?” John’s gaze became distant.
“They took my samples.” Of course.
“Closed the basement.” Of course.
“Told the university there’d been a steam-system contamination.” Of course.
“And questioned me for eleven hours.” Mayra grimaced.
“About bugs?” “About everything.” John tapped the desk.
“Where I found them.
What I touched.
Whether I felt dizzy.
Heard anything.
Saw lights.
Experienced unusual dreams.” Dreams.
Interesting.
Amelia caught it.
“Why dreams?” “I asked.” “And?” “They didn’t answer.” John looked at his coffee.
“I started having them anyway.” Silence.
Mayra’s expression changed.
“What kind?” John hesitated.
Then: “Underground.” My body went still.
“Tunnels.” He rubbed one thumb against the mug.
“Something breathing.” No.
“Hundreds of tiny legs moving around me.” He laughed once.
“I assumed stress.” Maybe.
“Then I started dreaming the same door every night.” The maintenance door.
Green-white light.
My wings tightened.
Amelia’s voice became softer.
“Did you open it?” John looked at her.
“In the dream.” That answer was bad enough.
“What was behind it?” “I don’t know.” He stared at the desk.
“I always woke before seeing clearly.” He swallowed.
“But something knew I was there.” Nobody spoke.
That sounded less like stress.
More like contact.
Amelia knew it too.
“Did the dreams stop?” “After ARB sealed the basement.” Then the source went dormant.
Interesting.
“They came back last week.” There.
Exact timing.
Before the evacuation?
Probably.
John continued.
“Three nights before they contacted me again.” The organism had been waking before the sensor spike.
Maybe dreams were an early warning.
Mayra looked uncomfortable.
“You didn’t tell them?” “I told them everything.” “And?” John’s mouth tightened.
“They already knew.” ARB understood more than they admitted.
Maybe not enough to solve it.
But enough to monitor dream effects.
I adjusted inside Amelia’s hood.
John’s eyes flicked toward the movement.
I stopped.
He looked at Amelia.
“Do you have something in there?” “No.” Beautiful.
No hesitation.
I loved her.
John stared.
Then decided not to pursue it.
Wise.
Amelia moved us back to the purpose.
“We need to know who Halden is.” John’s entire body changed.
Oh.
There.
Name recognized.
His eyes narrowed.
“Who told you that name?” Nobody answered.
John looked between them.
Then stood.
“No.” Again.
Mayra exhaled.
“We’re getting a lot of that.” “I mean it.” He moved toward the door.
“This conversation is over.” Amelia did not move.
“Marcus Morgan said the name.” John stopped.
Dangerous reveal.
But controlled.
Not how we’d heard it.
Just that Marcus had said it.
John turned slowly.
“Marcus.” “Yes.” “To you?” Amelia remained silent.
John understood that wasn’t the answer he’d get.
His expression became troubled.
“If Marcus is talking about Halden around students, things are worse than I thought.” Mayra leaned forward.
“So who is he?” John rubbed his face again.
Then finally: “Dr.
Victor Halden.” A full name.
Mayra would be furious she hadn’t found it.
“Westbridge?” Amelia asked.
“Formerly.” There.
“What field?” “Biomedical systems.” Mayra’s expression sharpened.
“Lot 7C.” John stared.
Another direct hit.
“How much do you know?” “Enough to know the waste shipment disappeared.” John sat again.
Slowly.
“You’ve been talking to Matthew.” Maybe.
Nobody confirmed.
He looked miserable.
“Matt shouldn’t have told anyone.” “People are being bitten by giant centipedes,” Mayra said.
“Normal confidentiality rules are having a rough week.” Fair.
John almost smiled.
Then it vanished.
“Halden supervised the external funding side of Seven-C.” Not Esther?
“Dr.
Caldwell ran the academic research.” John pointed toward the biomedical complex.
“Halden brought the money.” From where?
“Blackwell Biotech.” Not merely security.
Biotech.
The larger family operation.
Mayra whispered: “Blackwell funded the experiment.” “Partly.” John nodded.
“They’ve funded adaptive-medicine research here for years.” Not automatically evil.
Corporate-university partnerships were normal.
Probably.
“What did Halden want from Seven-C?” Amelia asked.
John hesitated.
“The official objective was trauma recovery.” “Unofficial?” “Rapid biological adaptation.” My Codex might as well have perked up.
John continued.
“Organisms exposed to changing environmental stress without requiring multiple generations.” Exactly the kind of process happening under the dorm.
“Heat.” “Toxins.” “Starvation.” “Predation.” “Mechanical injury.” My extracted traits echoed in my mind.
Armor.
Regeneration.
Toxin resistance.
Venom.
Different method.
Same evolutionary pressures.
Mayra asked: “Did it work?” “Too well in some colonies.” John looked toward the entomology wing beyond the wall.
“Behavior destabilized first.” “Then physical changes.” “Some insects became more aggressive.” “Some cannibalistic.” “Some stopped following normal feeding patterns.” Greenhouse blood feeder.
Maybe related.
Maybe not.
“And Halden wanted to continue.” John nodded.
“Dr.
Caldwell shut it down.” Esther was not the villain.
At least not then.
“What happened afterward?” “Officially?” John’s face tightened.
“Halden left Westbridge.” Mayra frowned.
“When?” “Two weeks before the waste shipment vanished.” That mattered.
Very much.
“Where did he go?” “Blackwell.” Of course.
“Job title?” John laughed.
“You won’t find him on their website.” Mayra muttered something unpleasant.
I agreed.
John continued.
“He runs special biological projects.” “That’s vague,” Mayra said.
“It’s supposed to be.” Amelia asked: “Is he ARB?” “No.” Immediate.
“Does he work with them?” John’s expression became complicated.
“Sometimes.” Of course.
“ARB contracts specialist labs.” “Blackwell provides containment equipment, biological analysis, field logistics.” “And security,” Mayra added.
“Yes.” Blackwell wasn’t ARB.
But it was embedded deeply enough to touch investigations.
A private contractor with its own research interests.
Dangerous combination.
Mayra asked: “Why would ARB allow that after Seven-C?” John laughed bitterly.
“Because institutions don’t have one brain.” Accurate.
“Some people inside ARB distrust Blackwell.” “Others need their resources.” “Others probably don’t know half of what their contractors do.” That matched Marcus’s warning.
Different people.
Different goals.
Messy.
Human.
Amelia asked: “What is Marcus’s relationship with Halden?” John paused.
“Bad.” Helpful.
“Why?” “Marcus used to work field retrieval for Blackwell Biotech.” Used to?
“He still works for Blackwell,” Mayra said.
“Protective division.” John nodded.
“Not biotech.” Interesting distinction.
“He transferred after Seven-C.” Why?
John looked toward his locked drawer.
Then made another decision.
“Because he was the one who found the missing shipment.” Silence.
Oh.
Mayra sat forward.
“Where?” John looked directly at us.
“East Residence.” There it was.
Not speculation anymore.
Confirmation.
“Seven months ago?” “Yes.” “Before or after the first mutation reports?” John hesitated.
“After mine.” So the sequence: John finds mutant insects.
Reports.
ARB arrives.
Marcus finds Lot 7C waste in East Residence.
Meaning the waste was already there when mutations began.
But maybe not the source.
“What happened to the containers?” Amelia asked.
“Some were recovered.” “Some?” “Several had broken.” Like the vial we’d found.
“And one case was missing entirely.” “How much material?” John shook his head.
“I don’t know.” “You do,” Amelia said.
He looked at her.
Her voice remained calm.
“You remember the number.” John’s jaw tightened.
Then: “Twenty-four vials.” Mayra stopped moving.
One broken vial had been enough to concern us.
Twenty-four missing.
Maybe intact.
Maybe dumped elsewhere.
Maybe still somewhere beneath campus.
John added: “Concentrated formulation.” Mayra whispered: “That seems bad.” John gave her a tired look.
“Very.” I agreed.
Amelia asked: “Did Halden know?” Another pause.
“Marcus believed he did.” Not proof.
Important distinction.
“Why?” “Shipping logs were altered using credentials belonging to a Blackwell compliance officer who reported directly to Halden.” Circumstantial.
Strong.
“But the employee disappeared before anyone could question him.” Mayra stared.
“Disappeared disappeared?” “Quit.
Apartment emptied.
Phone disconnected.” Less murder.
Still suspicious.
“ARB couldn’t find him?” John looked away.
“I don’t know.” Meaning maybe he knew but wouldn’t say.
Fine.
We already had enough.
Too much, maybe.
Then Amelia asked the question I cared about most.
“Why is Marcus protecting me from screening?” John’s eyes snapped to her.
Ah.
He did not know that.
Interesting.
“He is?” Amelia’s expression remained unreadable.
John sat back.
Thinking.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Mayra said: “Great.” John stared at Amelia.
Then something occurred to him.
“What did your sensor show during the evacuation?” Danger.
Amelia did not answer.
John’s eyes sharpened.
“Third floor had the largest unexplained spike outside the basement.” There.
That’s why.
ARB had detected Amelia.
Or my feeding history.
Or both.
Mayra’s expression went blank.
John continued.
“They assumed it was vertical bleed from the utility chase.” “But you don’t.” He looked at Amelia.
“I don’t know.” Amelia became very still.
John was not stupid.
He had worked around environmental measurements.
Seen anomalies.
Maybe he couldn’t sense spiritual energy directly.
But numbers told stories.
“And Marcus?” Amelia asked.
John looked toward the door.
“He has access to Blackwell’s raw sensor feeds.” Bad.
Very bad.
“If he told them not to screen you…” He paused.
“…he may be hiding your reading.” Why?
Nobody knew.
Maybe kindness.
Maybe suspicion.
Maybe he wanted to investigate personally.
All options dangerous.
Mayra rubbed her forehead.
“I miss when Chase was our biggest problem.” I used the idiot buzz.
John froze.
Oh.
No.
The room became silent.
He slowly looked around.
“What was that?” Nobody moved.
I remained inside Amelia’s hood.
Perfectly still.
Mayra answered: “Phone.” John looked at the powered-off phone on his desk.
Then Mayra’s powered-off phone.
Then Amelia.
Wonderful.
Amelia said: “Light fixture.” John looked up.
The light was not buzzing.
This was terrible.
I had become too comfortable with idiot communication.
John stared at Amelia’s hood.
No.
His expression changed.
Not certainty.
Suspicion.
He stood.
Walked closer.
Amelia’s body tightened almost imperceptibly.
He stopped two feet away.
“You have a mosquito.” Not a question.
Mayra’s face betrayed us before anyone spoke.
John saw it.
His eyes widened slightly.
Oh, Mayra.
Wonderful management.
Amelia answered: “Yes.” John stared.
“The one from the evacuation.” Silence.
“The pet.” I wanted to die.
Mayra cleared her throat.
“Emotional support.” Not now.
Please.
John looked at her as if she had committed a personal crime.
Then back at Amelia.
“Why is it in your hood?” “Warmth.” A decent answer.
Except ordinary mosquitoes did not choose hoods on command.
John’s eyes narrowed.
“Can I see it?” No.
Absolutely not.
Amelia said: “No.” Good.
Immediate.
John’s suspicion increased.
“Why?” “It dislikes entomologists.” I became perfectly still.
Mayra made a choking sound.
John stared at Amelia.
Then— to everyone’s surprise— laughed.
Just once.
“Fair.” He stepped backward.
Danger reduced.
Not gone.
Then his expression became more serious.
“Keep it away from the collection room.” Finally.
A good human.
I approved.
John sat again.
“One more thing.” His voice lowered.
“If Blackwell asks about unusual animals around you…” My entire body tightened.
“…say nothing.” Amelia’s gaze sharpened.
“Why?” John looked toward his insect books.
“Halden’s work didn’t stop with Seven-C.” Of course it didn’t.
“What continued?” “I don’t know specifics.” John sounded sincere.
“But after he left Westbridge, Blackwell started acquiring live anomalous specimens from ARB incidents.” My wings stopped.
Specimens.
Mutated animals.
Spirit beasts?
Maybe.
“Officially for containment research.” “Unofficially?” Mayra asked.
John looked at her.
“You already know the answer.” Adaptive biology.
Trait acquisition.
Artificial evolution.
Something uncomfortably parallel to me.
Not Codex.
Not safe.
But aimed in the same direction.
John continued: “If Halden learns there is an organism on campus showing controlled adaptation…” My entire body went cold.
“…he will want it.” Silence.
Mayra slowly looked toward Amelia’s hood.
John followed her eyes.
No.
Too obvious.
I wanted to bite her.
Emotionally.
John’s expression changed.
He looked at the hood.
Then at Amelia.
Then Mayra.
A long pause.
He had connected something.
Not everything.
But enough.
“Your mosquito…” Nobody spoke.
He laughed faintly.
Not humor.
Disbelief.
“Jesus Christ.” Amelia’s hand moved.
Not threatening.
Ready.
John saw.
Raised both hands.
“I’m not asking.” Good.
He looked shaken.
“But if I’m thinking what I think I’m thinking…” He paused.
“…do not let Blackwell see it.” Me.
Not him.
Still an insect in his framework.
Fine.
More important: Warning.
John looked directly at Amelia.
“And don’t trust Marcus just because he doesn’t trust Halden.” Excellent advice.
“Marcus has reasons for everything.” Mayra asked: “Is he dangerous?” John considered.
“Yes.” Simple.
“Bad?” Another pause.
“No.” Dangerous.
Not necessarily bad.
Good distinction.
I liked John more.
Amelia nodded.
“We understand.” John stood.
Opened the door.
This time, the meeting really was over.
“Forget you came here.” Mayra stood.
“Hard.” “Try.” They walked toward the hall.
Then John added: “And for the love of God…” We stopped.
His eyes moved toward Amelia’s hood.
“…don’t let that thing near my mosquito colony.” I emerged just enough for one compound eye to become visible.
John froze.
I delivered one very soft long high buzz.
Idiot.
Then disappeared back into the hood.
Mayra sprinted into the hallway before she started laughing.
Amelia followed.
John stood inside his office.
Silent.
I considered that a victory.
— We made it halfway across campus before Amelia stopped beneath a tree.
Mayra was still laughing.
“I cannot believe you did that.” Worth it.
Absolutely worth it.
Amelia looked at me.
I emerged from the hood.
Landed on her shoulder.
She tried to look disapproving.
Failed.
“That was reckless.” One buzz.
Yes.
“Unnecessary.” Yes.
“Petty.” Yes.
Mayra wiped tears from her eyes.
“Growth.” Amelia sighed.
But the humor faded quickly.
We had too much information.
Mayra pulled out the notebook once phones were safely away.
New structure.
VICTOR HALDEN Former Westbridge biomedical external-project supervisor.
Blackwell Biotech.
Funded Seven-C.
Wanted research continued after Caldwell stopped it.
Left Westbridge two weeks before missing shipment.
Now runs “special biological projects.” Connected indirectly to ARB contract work.
May possess authority over Blackwell anomaly operations.
Then: SEVEN-C TIMELINE John finds mutated organisms.
ARB notified.
Blackwell becomes involved.
Marcus recovers missing Seven-C containers from East Residence.
Several broken.
Twenty-four concentrated vials remain unaccounted for.
First anomaly suppressed.
Seven months later— awakening begins again.
The timeline created a new question.
If Seven-C had caused the first outbreak and most was recovered— why now?
Maybe the remaining twenty-four vials.
Maybe leaking slowly.
Maybe somebody had introduced more.
Or— the basement source had changed independently.
Then: AMELIA Third-floor sensor spike.
Blackwell likely has raw readings.
Marcus suppressing or delaying screening.
Reason unknown.
And: Plenteaful Potentially the exact kind of organism Halden would want most.
Controlled adaptation.
Trait integration.
Stable lineage.
I stared at my own name.
For the first time, the Codex did not feel merely like an advantage.
It felt like something people might kill to understand.
Or capture.
Study.
Replicate.
Mayra’s humor disappeared.
“We need to hide him better.” One buzz.
Yes.
Amelia looked toward the available trait in our notes.
LIGHT-ABSORBING CHITIN I — 10 ENERGY Same conclusion as before.
Stealth was no longer optional.
But energy remained the problem.
I checked.
0.31.
Pathetic.
I needed safe sources.
No random fighting.
No overfeeding on Amelia.
No basement raids.
We needed a plan.
Mayra tapped the page.
“Could you get energy from normal lab insects?” Technically.
But tiny amounts.
Thousands required.
Also unethical to raid John’s colony now that he’d specifically requested otherwise.
Unfortunately.
Amelia considered.
“The greenhouse.” Maybe.
Mutated insects there had low-level energy.
But we’d already agreed not to disrupt functioning ecology for greed.
Could collect naturally dead specimens.
Shed material.
Predator leftovers.
Slow.
Safe.
I buzzed once.
Mayra nodded.
“Scavenging.” Correct.
“Very majestic.” Long high buzz.
Idiot.
Amelia ignored us.
“We do it gradually.” Yes.
“And no more solo investigations.” I paused.
She stared.
I buzzed one.
Yes.
Mayra smiled.
“That sounded reluctant.” It was.
Then Amelia added: “Especially basketball.” I flew away.
Betrayal.
— We reached East Residence.
Jose stood outside speaking with two maintenance workers.
His bandaged arm looked better.
He saw us.
Then saw me flying beside Amelia.
His eyes followed.
Too carefully.
He knew.
Not everything.
Something.
We needed to reduce visibility immediately.
I landed beneath Amelia’s hair.
Jose looked away.
Then— a black sedan passed slowly along the service road.
Not ARB.
No federal plates.
No visible company marking.
But the driver wore a charcoal jacket.
Blackwell?
Maybe.
The sedan continued.
Amelia watched.
So did I.
Mayra whispered: “Paranoid yet?” Yes.
Very.
We entered the building.
The sensor beside our vent blinked green.
Ordinary.
Harmless-looking.
Watching.
Amelia closed the door.
Curtains shut.
Mayra covered the enclosure sign.
I rested on the desk.
Small.
Dark.
Still outwardly an ordinary mosquito.
For now.
But that disguise had an expiration date.
The stronger I became— the harder it would be to pretend.
And somewhere inside Blackwell Biotech, a man named Victor Halden specialized in organisms that adapted too quickly.
The problem was no longer whether powerful people would eventually notice me.
One already specialized in looking.
I opened the Codex.
— Evolution Energy: 0.31 Available Trait Template: LIGHT-ABSORBING CHITIN I Integration Cost: 10 — I stared at the number.
Ten.
Fine.
No shortcuts.
No reckless fights.
No draining Amelia.
No stealing research colonies.
I would earn it slowly.
Safely.
Intelligently.
Then something tapped the window.
Once.
Tick.
All three of us turned.
A moth clung to the outside of the glass.
Gray wings.
Muted pattern.
Ordinary size.
My Codex activated.
— Mutated lepidopteran detected.
Elevated biological-energy residue present.
— I stared.
Mayra stared at me.
Amelia stared at me.
My front legs began rubbing together.
Amelia pointed.
“No killing it.” I buzzed.
Obviously.
The moth fluttered.
Behind it— another appeared.
Then another.
Three.
Five.
Eight.
All landing around Room 317’s window.
Not random.
Gathering.
Amelia stood.
Her expression changed.
The basement source remained dormant.
Her cultivation was suppressed.
So what were they following?
The Codex answered.
— Multiple organisms displaying attraction toward host evolutionary signature.
— Host.
Me.
Silence.
Mayra slowly looked at me.
“Oh.” Amelia’s eyes narrowed.
The stronger I became— the easier I was to find.
Apparently not only by humans.
Outside the window, more moths arrived.