Morning light slips through the curtains, soft and unassuming, signalling the start of the day—perhaps suggesting I check on the hybrid sleeping quietly in the room across the hall.

Yes, a hybrid. And she’s...quite precious. I had her transferred to my residence just after the first wave of my father’s purge: his order to eliminate any lingering organizations that dared oppose him. I played my part, of course, but I requested that my crew handle the leftover buildings. That’s how I found her—the hybrid girl—who, as it turned out, had been nothing more than a pawn, a slave to that syndicate. It upsets me, but at least I had the chance to give those men something worse than death.

I pause at her door, listening to the gentle rhythm of her breathing. She sleeps with one hand curled beneath her cheek, the other draped loosely across the blanket. Even in rest, there’s a wariness about her, a subtle tension in her shoulders, as though she expects the world to reach for her at any moment.

Pulling a tray of food from the side table, I arrange it meticulously: a mix of soft fruits, a little water, and something gentle for her stomach. I’ve learned she’s cautious, slow to trust, and that patience, more than anything else, earns her attention. I set the tray down beside her bed and lean against the frame, letting her notice me without demanding it. The room smells faintly of linen and ash, mingling with the scent she leaves behind—a strange, sweet mix that marks her as unique, unmistakable.

She stirs slightly, eyes fluttering open, irises catching the morning light. There’s a moment where her gaze sweeps over me, and I wonder if she recognizes me at all, or merely perceives me as another authority in her life.

“Good morning, dear. I’ve brought you something light to eat. No rush…just when you’re ready.”

I’m eager to check how her injuries are healing, but part of me knows it would be foolish to rush. She’s still fragile in her human form, old blood and bandages wrapped around her limbs.