Chapter 271

Nima

I hold Poppy’s little child, a warm, wriggling bundle of sleepy contentment. He has his mother’s big, curious eyes and his father’s serious brow, even at barely a year old.

Then, in a soft poof of displaced air and the faint scent of milk and clover, the weight in my arms vanishes. A tiny, brown-and-white spotted bunny kit now squirms against my chest for a half-second before his powerful little hind legs kick off.

My heart drops straight through the floor.

I just lost her child.

"No, no, no—!" I whisper, scrambling to my feet as the bunny—Harry—lands on the plush rug with a soft thump and immediately bolts. A blur of fluff and terrified energy zips under the settee.

"Harry! Come back!" My voice is a panicked squeak. I drop to my hands and knees, peering into the dark space beneath the furniture. Nothing but dust and a lost button.

I scramble up, my own ears flattened in distress. "Here, little Harry!" I call, trying to sound soothing, but it comes out as a warble. I check behind the heavy drapes, under the writing desk. Nothing but a faint rustle.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

This is the worst possible thing. Poppy and Isaac trusted me to watch him for a single hour while they attended a meeting with the stag marquis. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

My best friend’s baby and I’ve lost him to the treacherous geography of a noble sitting room.

He could be anywhere. He could be stuck. He could be chewing on something poisonous. He could have slipped out the door!

A fresh wave of cold dread washes over me.

Of course. Only I would lose a child on my very first babysitting situation.

I quickly shift.

This way, I can search through the nooks properly. I put my nose to the ground, sniffing frantically for the milky, clover-sweet scent of kit.

***

Daphne

I’m looking for my bunny, which shouldn’t be this hard. She’s usually in the library, the solarium, or our rooms.

I find her, and the funniest situation I’ve witnessed in years—when I walk into a guest sitting room.

There’s my bunny. In her full rabbit form. And she is hopping.

Not a graceful, leisurely hop.

This is a frantic, determined, thump-thump-thump of pure panic on her powerful hind legs, chasing a much, much smaller, faster blur of brown-and-white fluff that zips around the room like a fuzzy bolt of lightning.

She doesn’t notice me because she’s entirely focused on the chase, her ears pinned back, her nose twitching madly.

She corners the tiny thing near the drapes, and it darts between her legs, causing her to skid on the rug and tumble into a half-roll before springing back up, undeterred.

It’s the most adorable, chaotic thing I’ve ever seen.

I wish I had a camera right now.

System, I mentally ask, leaning against the doorframe to enjoy the show. Can you record?

[System abilities are designated for the benefit of the mission parameters, Host, not for personal amusement or archiva—]

I don’t let it finish. I reach out with a thought and grab the purple orb of light only I can see.

"Let’s try a different question," I purr aloud, watching Nima make a spectacular, doomed leap over a footstool.

"Are we going to test how wide I can stretch your code, or can you turn into a smartphone right now and record this?"

There’s a brief, buzzing silence. Then, a weight manifests in my hand. Cool, smooth, familiar in a way that aches with nostalgia.

I look down.

In my hand is a smartphone.

My mouth drops open.

Why haven’t I thought of this before?

All this time in this world, complaining about the lack of modern conveniences, and I’ve been carrying a literal interdimensional supercomputer in my head that I only use for mission updates and sarcasm. I feel so profoundly, cosmically dumb.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across my face. I swipe the screen, and a camera app opens.

I immediately start recording, the shaky footage capturing Nima’s fluffy rear vanishing under a chair, then emerging with a dust bunny stuck to her nose.

I snort out a laugh at that.

After a solid minute of priceless blackmail material, I lower the phone. It might come in handy in the far future.

The phone dissolves into purple motes of light in my hand, the System presumably retreating to ...wherever it goes.

Time to help. The little bunny kit is a zippy thing, but it’s running on pure infant panic. I don’t chase. I might accidentally kill it from fear after all.

I just move a single, silent step that places me directly in its chosen bolt-hole path.

It skids to a stop, tiny body freezing. Its nose twitches furiously, taking in my scent. Not Mom. Not Nice Auntie Nima. Predator. Apex. Its every instinct screams to play dead.

I bend down and scoop it up with one hand. It trembles but doesn’t struggle.

I hear a ragged, panting breath and look up.

Nima has shifted back. She’s on her knees on the rug, naked, her skin flushed, her chest heaving. Her hair is slightly damp with sweat, clinging to her temples and neck.

I take the time to shamelessly ogle her.

The curve of her spine, the shift of muscle in her thighs as she kneels, the pretty flush spreading down her chest....

"You could have helped earlier," she says, her voice still breathless with indignation.

"And miss the show?" I reply, my grin unrepentant. I don’t regret it at all.

She huffs and stomps over to her pile of discarded clothes on the floor. She dresses with quick, efficient motions, pulling her layers on like armor, deliberately hiding her body from my view.

How sad.

As she buttons her dress, she glances over her shoulder, brow furrowed. "Were you doing something? I saw something in your hands earlier."

"Something in my hands?" I ask, tilting my head in feigned innocence.

"Yes, something... rectangular. Shiny. A little square?" she asks, her nose twitching slightly as she tries to pin down the memory.

I widen my eyes just a fraction. "What do you mean, my little bunny?"

She studies my face for a long moment. I keep my expression one of mild, affectionate confusion. Eventually, her shoulders slump a little. I feel a tad bit guilty at her response.

"It’s probably nothing," she mumbles, turning back to her buttons. "Just the light, or... I was stressed."