The relentless rhythm of the rain had finally lulled Kaelen into a fitful sleep, the data slate slipping from her fingers onto the floor. She dreamed of fire and screaming, and a little girl's hand slipping from her grasp.
A sudden, sharp CRACK of thunder shook the very foundations of the penthouse.
Kaelen jolted awake, her heart hammering against her ribs. The storm was directly overhead now, lightning flashing behind the clouds, illuminating the vast room in stark, momentary bursts.
Then, a softer sound. A frantic, tiny knocking at her bedroom door.
She was on her feet in an instant, crossing the room and yanking the door open.
Iris stood there, dwarfed by the oversized doorframe, shaking like a leaf. She clutched a pillow to her chest like a shield, her face pale and tear streaked in the dim light from the hallway.
"What's wrong, Iris?" Kaelen asked, her voice rough with sleep but immediately concerned. "Are you okay?"
Another boom of thunder rattled the windows. Iris flinched violently, a small sob escaping her. "The… the thunder," she stammered, her small body trembling. "I'm scared."
In that moment, Kaelen saw it. Not just a child she felt obligated to protect, but a real, frightened little girl. The weight of the world, the cruelty of her classmates, the absence of her mother it all fell away, leaving just a kid who was afraid of a loud noise.
And in her vision, over Iris's head, the numbers shifted. The neutral 0% glowed, then changed.
Iris Vesper. Approximate Approval: 6%.
The tiny increase, earned through comfort offered in the middle of the night, felt like a monumental victory.
"Oh, I see," Kaelen said, her voice softening. She knelt down to Iris's level. "Are you scared? Do you wanna sleep here?"
Iris nodded vigorously, her lower lip trembling. "Mom is not here… so can I?"
"Of course you can," Kaelen said, standing and ushering her inside. "You can sleep on the other side of the bed. Let me just finish this work, and I'll join you after this, okay?"
Iris nodded again, scrambling onto the massive bed and burrowing under the covers on the far side, still clutching her pillow. The number above her head flickered.
Iris Vesper. Approximate Approval: 8%.
Kaelen smiled faintly, picking up the data slate from the floor. She didn't look at it. She just held it, pretending to read until she heard Iris's breathing even out into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. The thunder continued to rumble, but the child, safe in her presence, slept through it.
Eventually, Kaelen put the slate down, turned off the light, and slipped into bed herself. She lay on her side, watching the small, blanket covered lump, listening to the rain. For the first time, the penthouse didn't feel lonely.
She fell asleep with the soft sound of Iris's breathing in her ears.
Morning came, soft and grey. The storm had passed, leaving a washed clean world outside. Kaelen woke to the feeling of a small foot pressed against her leg. Iris was starfished across the bed, having migrated during the night, one arm thrown over her sloth, her mouth slightly open as she drooled on the thousand thread count sheets.
Kaelen's heart did a funny little squeeze. She carefully extricated herself, leaving the girl to sleep.
Quietly, she padded into the kitchen. The penthouse was still silent; Sera hadn't returned. Determined to do this one thing right, Kaelen rummaged through the high tech fridge, pulling out eggs and bread. Cooking wasn't a skill the original Kaelen had ever bothered with, but the reincarnator remembered.
She was just sliding a slightly too brown fried egg onto a plate when she heard small footsteps. Iris wandered out, rubbing her eyes with her fists, her hair a glorious mess. She was still in her pajamas, looking soft and sleepy and young.
"Good morning, Iris," Kaelen said, trying for a cheerful tone that felt foreign. "If you wanna eat breakfast, you have to take a bath and get ready for school first. After that, you eat, and I'll bring you to school."
Iris, still half asleep, just nodded and shuffled toward the bathroom. The routine, the normality of it, felt incredibly fragile and precious.
Kaelen turned back to the stove to fry another egg. This was okay. She could do this. She could build something here, something safe for this one child.
The soft hiss of the penthouse door sliding open made her freeze.
She turned.
Sera stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light. She looked exhausted, her usually impeccable appearance slightly rumpled, her eyes shadowed. Her gaze swept the room, taking in the scene: the set table, the frying pan on the stove, Kaelen holding a spatula.
And then her eyes landed on Iris, who had just emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp and combed, looking for approval.
Sera's expression, already weary, transformed into one of pure, unadulterated panic. She moved in a flash, crossing the room and pulling Iris protectively behind her, as if snatching her from the path of a speeding train.
"Iris, we'll eat along the way to school," Sera said, her voice tight with a forced calm that didn't hide her terror. She didn't even look at the food. Her eyes, when they finally lifted to meet Kaelen's, held a glare of such intense hatred and fear that it was physically staggering.
And then the pain came.
Not a System warning. Not a punishment.
It was a headache, sudden and blinding, like an ice pick driven directly into her temple. Kaelen gasped, dropping the spatula with a clatter, her hand flying to her head.
And with the pain came a memory. Not her own. A memory from the novel she'd read.
A rainy morning. A frantic Sera, late for a crucial meeting her uncle had forced upon her. A dismissive, irritated Kaelen. "I'm not a nanny. The driver can take her."
A missed turn. A car accident. A small body, broken and still. A tiny, glowing teddy bear crushed under twisted metal.
Iris. Dead at ten. Because of Kaelen's negligence.
The memory was a visceral punch to the gut, worse than any System shock. She understood now. Sera's hatred wasn't just about the abuse, the forced bonding, the stolen legacy. It was rooted in this. This was the deepest, most primal fear. This was the nightmare that kept Sera awake at night. She wasn't just protecting her niece from a cruel Alpha; she was protecting her from a prophecy of death, one that Kaelen herself had fulfilled in another timeline.
Kaelen stared at Sera, her own face pale with the phantom pain of the memory and the horrifying understanding. The -100% approval wasn't just a number. It was a mother's grief for a child who hadn't even died yet.
Sera, mistaking Kaelen's pained expression for anger, clutched Iris tighter and practically ran for the door, leaving the breakfast, the penthouse, and the shattered moment of peace behind.