Page 22 of Fathom

"Breast," she whispered, pointing at one of them. Then she dragged her finger up and down the boobs. "Breasts."

I let out a giggle, and she made a tittering sound that was more like the high notes on a xylophone.

I repeated the words, just as quietly as her, and the two of us hunched over the pornographic book, whispering body parts and action verbs back and forth to each other until Eun returned. Then it was back to words designed to help someone navigate an alien world, such as how to ask where the library was, all the while smiling at each other.

Whatever Abby's intentions, her company made learning more fun.

EIGHT

EUN

"This is your new home," I told her as I handed Leija the key.

I didn't know how many words she would understand, but I knew it was important to say them anyway. You didn't help someone learn by holding back and treating them like an infant. She was fully immersed in our culture and our language. The best way to help her was to talk to her like she would one day understand. We stood in the hallway outside the new door, the air filled with the scent of a cleaning solution, crisp and recent. After work, I'd led her to this building one street over from the restaurant instead of back to the old apartment. I couldn't keep her in the dingy studio that had served me just fine. Money had never been the issue. My paycheck from the restaurant was a droplet in the vast sum of my savings. I wasn't working there because I needed a job. I was working there because I needed to work to stay sane.

She deserved a better place to live, a safer place, to find her way.

She took the key from my hand, her brow furrowing as she turned it over between her fingers.

“Home,” she echoed softly.

It wasn’t the same key I had before. That old studio was the first place I found that let me move in immediately.

This place was different. My uncle had pointed it out to me, mentioning a friend of his who managed the building and was willing to get me a unit. It was one street over from the restaurant, nestled above the market strip where shops spilled out their colors and scents. The building itself sat above a grocer who specialized in southern fruits, and from the top floor, you could smell the ripe aroma of the harder fruits set out in the sun to finish ripening.

The key wasn’t even a key anymore, not a piece of cut metal, but a sleek band that wrapped around the wrist. Flexible when worn, it would stiffen when straightened, flat enough to slide into a pocket or bag if the holder didn't want to wear it.

Leija stared at it like it was a riddle she couldn’t quite solve, the crease between her brows deepening.

"Key," I said, pointing at the key in her hand. I almost touched her, pulling my hand back at the last second, my heart jumping in my chest as my fingers almost brushed against her soft skin.

I had to grow to protect her.

The thought flashed through me, brutal and sudden. I recovered, my heart still thrumming in my chest as I cleared my throat and pointed at the lock instead. "Put it against the lock here."

What was wrong with me?

I'd never felt like this before, not that I touched prey beingsoften. The few times I had done so, it didn't cause this kind of reaction in me, those kinds of strange urges. The thought of even touching my hand to hers was causing my heart to race and my breath to quicken in my chest. This was something new. Something different. It was made so much worse by how much I enjoyed brushing my hair against her skin, something she kept responding to positively.

She turned away from me, giving me a moment to catch my breath and calm my racing heart.

She pressed the key to the lock, and the door clicked. She glanced at me before grabbing the door and pushing it open.

On the other side of the door was an apartment my parents would still hate, but not quite as much as the one-room dive I’d called home before.

This place had been updated recently, still carrying the faint scent of fresh paint. Sleek appliances lined the kitchenette, and a soft carpet cushioned every step. A small cleaning bot, programmed to collect loose hair, waited patiently in the corner, ready to run whenever she left the apartment.

It came fully furnished, but I’d have to find a way to show her it was hers. That she could change anything she wanted. I could easily cover whatever made her feel at home here.

She let out a soft, cooing sound as she stepped inside, kicking off her shoes and padding across the room. I watched her hips move, framed by the fabric that brushed against her skin. She was so beautiful. Her fingers brushed over the back of the couch, and I wished they were brushing against my chest. My hair began to reach for her again, brushing past my cheeks, and I knew I needed to cut it. I had enjoyed letting it grow so long, but it was starting to act like it had a mind of its own, responding to my desires rather than my thoughts.

She lingered on the couch for a moment before she disappeared through one of the bedroom doors.

It was a two-bedroom unit, each with its own en suite bath. There was even a small guest restroom near the front. The living room opened into the kitchenette, and across the far wall, a floor-to-ceiling window offered a full view of the market below.

I walked toward it, gaze drifting down to the crowds. Even from here, I spotted three predator species weaving through the vendors, sharp teeth, sharper eyes. It would only take one glance upward. One moment of her standing there, all that soft, bare skin catching the light...

I didn’t like the window.