Page 53 of Aïdes the Unseen
“I thought we agreed on Thursdays for walk-throughs,” I said under my breath as I joined him.
“Spontaneity is vital to ecological curiosity,” he replied, smiling in that maddening way of his. “Besides,Regrowthseems more expressive when she’s surprised.”
I didn’t argue. I ran through the demo. I enjoyed watching the students wave their hands over sensors and gasp when petals curled or color shifted.
Then I felt it again.
The sense of being watched, not from within the exhibit, but beneath it.
As if the greenhouse had layers I hadn’t yet mapped.
By the time I finished with the question and answers session following the demo and finally excused myself to return to the hallway for Analytics, the day began sliding sideways again.
Puppy stopped at the foot of the corridor, head low, ears pinned slightly back. Unease slid through me.
I knelt beside him. “You feel it too?”
He didn’t move.
The hallway was dimmer than it should’ve been. Even the overhead fluorescents looked pale and thinned out. I walked forward anyway, my steps echoing slightly despite the sound-dampening panels.
I had just reached the halfway mark when?—
“Irina.”
It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t from my earpiece or frombehindme.
It came from the intercom above the emergency hatch. That line was only supposed to be used during drillsorif something went wrong. I hesitated, heart thudding. The call light blinked again.
“Please report to the back loading bay, immediately.”
There was no sign off nor recognizable voice, just the robotic tone of the automated system. I glanced back toward Mara’s lab then down at the puppy. He’d followed me silently and stared inthe same direction I’d been headed. He didn’t whine or wag his tail, he just waited.
I had a feeling neither of us was going to make it down there today. With a longer sigh, I turned away and the puppy fell into step with me.
The loading bay was cooler than the rest of the Annex, and smelled faintly of rust, fuel, and old rain. The gate was closed, but not sealed. A thin line of soil trailed in from outside, which was unusual. The last delivery had come in the day before, and we always swept up after a delivery.
One of the freight panels had shorted out. Again. That made for three times this month.
This time, however, the error code flashing wasn’t the usual mechanical alert. It was a string of text.
001-REGROWTH-EXCEEDED
I stared at it. That wasn’t even a real code. The puppy stood beside the freight bay now, nose pressed to the seam between the gate and the floor. He didn’t bark, but his entire body was braced like he waited for something to come through.
I didn’t know what I expected when I opened the panel housing. Maybe it was a wiring error or a loose connection. I definitely expected somethingexplainable.
What I found though, inside the electrical box was a single green leaf.
Dark. Waxy. Curled.
Not burned. Not out of place.
Justthere.
That did not make any kind of sense, at all.
By the time I finished running diagnostics and closed the panel again, I had no answers for the leaf. I took it with me and returned to the hallway for Analytics, but the corridor was empty. Normal. The air was cool and quiet. The lights shined properly.
