Slipping Through His Grasp

The cell’s soft hum served as a backdrop to Mina’s restless pacing. She always stayed close to the lattice, her fingers occasionally brushing its shimmering threads as if seeking something she couldn’t name. Her visits had grown quieter, her usual chatter punctuated by long silences. Today was no different.

“He’s been meeting with the elders more often,” she said finally, her voice low. “Talking about unity. About how the Creche have held us back.”

Anaxi tilted their head, watching her. “And what do you think about that?”

Mina hesitated, her hand hovering over the lattice. “I don’t know. It sounds… convincing sometimes. But then I think about the orb, about the way it feels when I’m near it.” Her hand dropped to her side, and she frowned. “It’s different now. Colder.”

Anaxi nodded, their mind turning over her words. They’d long suspected Victor was playing a larger game, one that relied on more than just rallying discontent. But Mina’s subtle shifts—the way she spoke of the orb, the lingering doubt in her voice—confirmed it. Victor was doing more than manipulating people. He was trying to redefine their connection to the Creche.

“Does he know you still come here?” Anaxi asked, keeping their tone casual.

“No,” Mina replied quickly. Too quickly.

The hum of the lattice seemed to deepen, the Creche’s presence filling the silence between them. Anaxi leaned back against the wall, their fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the cool surface. They couldn’t act yet—not without more information—but the pieces were falling into place. Victor’s plans, whatever they were, depended on control: control of the orb, of the village, of the narrative itself.

And Mina, whether she realized it or not, was slipping through his grasp.