Ashur walked all the way to the Sitallu estate. The rice ambrosia still pulsed through his organic-metalloid lining. Heat. Latency. He was not stable. 

Help Alia. 

The Sitallu estate was vast. Larger than he remembered. And fortified. This time, he was not a guest. He was an intruder. The road to the front door was simple. But entry without invitation was proving difficult. A stone wall enclosed the compound, punctuated by towers where pale lanterns glowed in the twilight. He wanted to avoid damaging property. Avoid breaking more laws than he already was. Avoid landing in a Southern jail.

His mother would be horrified by his decision-making today. No protocols. No permission.

Just purpose. And hope.

Ashur scaled the wall without leaving traces of damage. He located a seam in the stonework, slightly recessed, likely structural. His fingers found purchase in the gaps. Servos in his limbs modulated pressure to avoid cracking the surface. No chips. No scuffs. No noise. He dropped silently into the garden beyond. The grounds were manicured with geometric precision. Winding paths curved through rows of sculpted hedges. Cherry trees stood in bloom, still and pale beneath the moonlight. Pools of water reflected the sky. Static. Undisturbed. In the courtyard, guards moved in pairs. Paced. Deliberate. Predictable. Each patrol ran on a ten-minute loop. Ashur tracked their intervals. Projected their routes. He moved like a blur between them. Silent. Fast. Too fast to be noticed.

Finally, he reached the primary residence.

He peered through windows as he passed. Systematically. Quietly. One window at a time, he searched, hoping to see Alia. Hoping to speak to her. One revealed a sitting room. Attendants arranged scrolls. Another, an armory. Two men cleaned rifles beneath the steady glow of lantern light. Routine maintenance. Past that a small, private temple honoring the Sitallu family and ancestors. 

Then, he found Fera. Not with Julius.

But with another man.

Fera lay on her side, naked. Her breasts caught the moonlight. A sheet covered her from the waist down. Beside her was a Southern man, dark hair, pale skin. Both were deep asleep. Breathing slow. Even.

Ashur blinked. Momentarily disoriented.

He recognized the man. A server from the dinner last week. It was not difficult to interpret what had taken place. The indicators were sufficient.

Of all the humans Ashur had encountered, Fera made the least sense. She operated outside predictable patterns. He made a note to maintain distance from her. Averted his gaze. Refocused.

He continued to the next window.

Suddenly, there she was.

Alia sat at her dresser in a blush pink silk nightgown. The wooden surface was neatly arranged: cosmetics, hairbrushes, everything in its place. She stared into the mirror. Expression tight. Unreadable. Haddin Ishmu stood behind her. Dressed in a formal, navy evening robe, speaking low. His hands rested on her shoulders. Alia didn't look at him. She stared down at her hands. Still. Unmoving.

Ashur increased the sensitivity of his audio sensors. He moved closer to the window. So close the cold of the glass met the heat rising from his core systems. A thin layer of condensation formed between them.

"...Sokiya will be fine," Haddin said.

Alia's shoulders were rigid. Her hands clenched in her lap. Tension mapped clearly across her frame.

"But if you want me to consider taking your mother to Gossam City for care...I'll need something from you," he said. An unsettling smile spread across his face.

Alia shook her head. She didn't look at him, just stared down. "No. Not today, Haddin." Her voice was strained.

Haddin chuckled. Smug. Predatory.

Ashur watched as Haddin's hands slid down Alia's shoulders. Down her arms. Around her chest.

"Please, stop," Alia said, lifting her shoulder to deflect him. She stood. Pushed him away. "Not today."

"You don't get to choose when," he said through clenched teeth. "You're mine."

Ashur's core temperature began to rise. A sharp spike. Rage surged through his system.

Don't touch her!

Then he moved. Fast. Aggressive. 

Haddin grabbed Alia. Pushed her onto the bed. He climbed over her. She struggled beneath him. His hands moved to her nightgown. The fabric tore.

She cried out, "Haddin! No!" Her hands tried to push him away.

Get away from her!

Ashur's system overloaded. Warning lights flared across his vision. Processor strain. Temperature spike. Emotion exceeded tolerance thresholds. His hands clenched. Instinct fired.

He had to act.

Without another calculation, he crashed through the window. Glass exploded inward. Shards scattering like ice. Both Alia and Haddin jerked in shock.

Alia turned, grabbing at the bedding. Her arms crossed it tightly over her chest. Her eyes went wide. Horrified. At Ashur. At the sight of herself, exposed. She made herself smaller. Drew her knees in. Curled her shoulders. Shifted to the corner of the bed.

Ashur approached and punched Haddin square in the face. A crash followed. Haddin slammed into the dresser. The mirror shattered. Makeup, brushes, and small objects scattered across the floor. Ashur had held back. He knew a full-force hit could kill a human. But he wanted Haddin to feel pain. To remember it.

Haddin recovered quickly. He wiped blood from his mouth. Touched the back of his head where the mirror had broken. His fingers came away red. Still, he smiled. Cruel.

"How dare you, peasant trash?"

"She told you to stop!" Ashur's frame shook with rage.

"She is mine to do as I will," Haddin sneered.

The words made Alia shrink back further. Horror on her face.

Ashur stepped toward her. Steady. Careful.

"Alia," he said softly, "are you alright?"

But then Haddin growled, "You should've stayed out of this. Now I'll have to kill you." The gun was already in his hand, pulled from a nearby jacket pocket.

Without warning, he fired.

Ashur moved, a blur again. The bullet missed. He was back in position before Haddin could blink. Ashur's systems recalibrated. Target locked. Threat identified. For the first time since his mother died, he felt no confusion.

Only purpose.

He surged forward, faster than thought. No restraint. No calculation of speed. In one motion, his hands closed around Haddin's head and twisted. A sharp crack. The spinal cord severed. Haddin's body dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

"No!"

Alia's scream struck him like a system shock. Sudden. Piercing. She had jumped out of bed, a bedsheet clutched against her body. Staring down at the corpse. "What have you done, Ashur?" Her voice trembled. "You shouldn't have killed him!"

Ashur stood still. Chest tightening. Systems spinning in disarray.

"But... he was hurting you, Alia," he said quietly.

Tears welled in her eyes. "That was between him and me." She stepped back. Still clutching the sheet. Her breathing was ragged, her gaze fearful.

Ashur stepped toward her, hand lifting instinctively.

She flinched. Backed away fast. "You're a murderer," she whispered. Her eyes searched him, disbelief rising. "How did you move like that? How did you kill him... with such inhuman strength and swiftness?"

"Alia," he said quietly, "I was just trying to help you."

Her scream jolted his systems. "Stop trying to help me!"

She turned and ran from the room.

Ashur stood motionless.

At the doorway stood Lady Fera Nimrin. Now dressed in a silk blue robe, belted at the waist. Eyes wide. She watched Alia run past. Her gaze dropped to Haddin's dead body on the floor. Finally, she looked back at Ashur.  One brow arched...slowly. Curious. Calculating.

That's when Ashur registered it. He had killed a man.

And now, he needed to leave. Immediately. His objective had failed. Alia did not care for him. Maybe now she hated him. If he stayed, he would rot in prison. Or worse, they would discover what he was. And shut him down. Permanently.

Before he moved, Fera spoke. Calm. Discerning. 

"Ashur," she said. "Don't go."

She stepped into the room, slowly. One hand raised in front of her. Cautious. Measured.

"There's no need to run," she said softly. "I know what you are. And I can help you."