“Thanks,” he said shyly. His smile appeared more genuine than before. “So, when’s this storm gonna break?”
My feelers flowed upward, sensing tiny vibrations in the air. “It will be an hour or two,” I estimated.
A visible shudder rolled over Assistant 23.
Suddenly, he stood up. “Jaeyoung was still out there, right? It must be fine for a little while.”
An irrational surge of protection made my feelers pulse. It was safe for the moment, yes. But that did not mean I wanted him to go outside.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
To my shock, he was getting dressed. He already had one foot in his coverings. “I need my machine. If there’s a storm, my place might flood.”
His words came out clipped. Almost terse.
My scales prickled. I stood up and offered, “I will get it for you.”
“Thanks, Farr’vye, but it’s an old machine. It’s delicate,” Assistant 23 said, avoiding eye contact with me. He closed the hood around his head so only a small section of his face was exposed. “I can get it by myself.”
The irrational feelings in my chest flared. He was acting strangely. If he went outside now, the villagers would see his real face. Since when has he been accepting of being exposed?
“If you leave now, your face will be seen,” I pointed out.
Assistant 23’s jaw was as tight as his reply. “It’s fine.”
It was not. Why was he lying to me?
I barely swallowed a worried growl as I stepped closer to him. “Little human—”
“Please, just let me do this, okay?” Assistant 23 snapped.
I was taken aback by his outburst. His expression was plastered with anger, but it was off. Like his earlier smile, it seemed forced.
I was not upset with him. I was deeply concerned.
“I swear, I’ll be right back,” Assistant 23 said quickly, moving away from me. “I just need some air, okay?”
My eyes narrowed. “I thought you needed your machine.”
Assistant 23 noticed his error but did not pause to unravel the mess. “Yeah, that too.”
“I will accompany you,” I said.
“No.”
His reply was too fast. Too sharp.
“I promise I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t follow me. Please.”
He stumbled toward the front door.
A feeling of rage swelled within me. None of it was directed at him. Instead, it was aimed at myself. His unwillingness to be honest with me meant that I had failed to cultivate his comfort. Failed to earn his trust.
I could have stopped him by force. I could have wrapped my tentacles around his scrawny human body and pinned him against my chest, holding him safely in my line of sight until the danger had passed.
It was extremely difficult not to impose my will on him. But I held on with the barest thread of control.
Perhaps he needed this moment of defiance. There was something he would not tell me, and it drove him to act irrationally. Just as I was acting.