The lab is quiet except for the low hum of coolant pipes and the twins’ synchronized fidgeting—Hansel braiding Gretel’s ribbon while Gretel braids hers back, an endless loop of boredom. Siren floats three Spindrift orbs in lazy figure-eights above her head, humming a wordless bubbles. Red Shoes sits cross-legged on a workbench, polishing one crimson boot with a silk cloth, murmuring prayers that sound suspiciously like threats.Abe stands apart, back to them, shoulders hunched over her tablet. The screen’s glow paints her tired face blue. Her thumb hovers, then stabs SEND again.

[Message log – encrypted channel] Abe: They are not assets. They are my daughters. Touch ownership and I leak every black-budget file I have. UFH Liaison: Calm down, Product 23. Legal claims are— Abe: Call me Product one more time and I start naming names.

She exhales through her teeth, kills the chat, and glances up—making sure no one saw the tremor in her hand. Too late. Red Shoes’ amber eyes flick over, knowing and quiet. Abe pretends to study coolant readouts instead.The blast door hisses.Cinderella steps through in a swirl of silver hair and crystalline reflections, Glass Slippers clicking proudly on the metal floor. Cheeks flushed, breathing light, she strikes a perfect idol pose in the doorway.

“Final evaluation complete! One hundred percent sync, zero anomalies! Your princess is ready for her ball, Fairy Godmother!”

The twins whoop and rush her. Siren’s orbs burst into tiny sparkling fish that swirl around Cinderella’s head like celebratory confetti. Red Shoes smiles—small, sharp, proud.Abe’s tablet screen dims, forgotten. For one heartbeat her face softens completely, the exhausted scientist replaced by something fiercely tender mother.She clears her throat, voice rough.

“Good. Then get over here and eat before these gremlins steal your soup again.”

Cinderella laughs, bright as breaking dawn, and the lab feels—briefly, impossibly—like a home instead of a cage.