Eisen immediately placed Pinecone into the portable storage case he carried, then took the elevator down with Linneya and Starling to Level 1.
The moment Linneya stepped out of Edean Tower, she realized the outside was nothing like usual.
Today the artificial sun blazed brighter than any real sun she’d ever known, flooding the entire plaza in harsh, unforgiving light—so bright she could see every tiny detail. Along the ring around the tower’s base, sixteen concealed gun turrets had fully unfolded. Small drones flitted back and forth overhead, weaving patrol routes. Human guards and robots were everywhere, at least several times the normal number.
As the tower’s warden, Garrick—the leader of the Glimmer Guard—was fully armed and visibly on edge, standing at his post like a wall of scar tissue and steel. When he spotted the three of them coming out, he strode over with a familiar greeting.
“Hey there, little princess,” Garrick said. “Heading out again today?”
Garrick stood three times Linneya’s height, his face a map of old wounds. When she’d first met him, she’d been terrified. But Garrick treated Little White with obvious reverence, and every time Linneya passed through the tower entrance, he greeted her gently. In all of Edean, he was one of the very few who spoke to her first. After a while, Linneya stopped being afraid—sometimes they even traded a joke or two.
“Not really,” Linneya said flatly. She didn’t have the heart for banter today. “I’m just going to check on the farm, big guy.”
“That still won’t work, little princess.” Garrick scratched his head. “General Graham just gave the order: nobody leaves Edean Tower today.”
“Why not?” Linneya’s temper flared. “I’m not going far. Just the farm area. And I’m not even Edean.”
“A monster escaped from the tower last night,” Garrick said, lowering his voice as if the shadows themselves might be listening. “Could be hiding in some dark corner right now. Aren’t you scared?”
“No.” Linneya shook her head.
Garrick sighed. “Your Sister White even told me before she left—specifically—that I had to protect you. You’re making this hard for me…”
“I’ll be quick,” Linneya insisted. “And look at all the patrols. Nothing’s going to happen.”
Garrick hesitated, then finally relented. “Ugh… fine. But you three go and come right back.”
“Thanks, big guy,” Linneya said, already moving.
***
Ten minutes later, they found Minks at a Bubble Farm where orange beans were being grown.
Minks still wore that same vacant, slow-moving expression. He turned the soil with a little shovel, unhurried and almost trance-like. Even the three of them arriving couldn’t get him to lift his head.
“Minks! Minks!” Linneya hurried over and waved her hands in front of his face. “Your companions are here!”
“Minks is working,” Minks replied without looking up.
“Minks,” Eisen said, calm but firm, “put down the shovel. We’ve ‘something more important than work.’”
After days of effort, Minks had finally learned his own name.
Eisen had spent even more time trying to teach him their shared past—trying to make him remember Wyatt, Danse, Starling, Linneya… but no matter what Eisen did, he couldn’t push Minks any farther.
In the end, Eisen had been forced to simplify everything into two key phrases:
“Minks’s companions,” and “something more important than work.”
Minks grasped the first phrase quickly and soon included Eisen and the others in the category of “companions.” The second phrase, however, took Eisen far longer to teach.
Eisen planned to refine it later—break the idea down further, tell Minks about each companion one by one, and try to spark a second awakening.
This time, at least, the phrase worked.
Minks finally set the shovel down. “Okay. Minks ‘has something more important than work’ to do.”
Linneya was used to Minks’s behavior from her frequent visits to the farms, but Starling stared in open amazement.
“Wow… he understands you,” Starling breathed. “Eisen, how did you do that?”
Eisen gave a small, tired smile. “When I was a butler, I specialized in early childhood education. And our Minks here is much smarter than a human baby.”
“…Right,” Starling said weakly, still stunned.
Eisen glanced around, then guided Minks to a more secluded corner and lowered his voice.
“Minks’s companions need to check your database.”
“Understood,” Minks said. “Minks is switching to maintenance mode.”
As he spoke, Minks opened the panel on his chest, exposing the core components inside. Beside his storage unit was a palm-sized display, mounted on a metal arm that could slide out—clearly designed for diagnostics and data review.
Eisen searched through Minks’s database and quickly found an archive Pinecone had uploaded.
When he opened it, Eisen froze for a heartbeat.
Pinecone had actually categorized the files. The videos Pinecone considered “important” had been grouped together neatly—making it easier for them to review now.
The three of them crowded in beside Minks, all staring at the small screen.
Eisen tapped a random file first.
The footage was from Pinecone’s point of view—daily moments of Linneya, Starling, and Pinecone laughing and playing together.
“Pinecone thought this was important,” Starling said with a bitter little smile.
Linneya’s tears spilled over immediately.
Minks pointed at the screen and announced, as if identifying something precious: “Linneya. Starling. Minks’s companions.”
“Not this one,” Eisen said quickly.
He closed the file and scrolled by number until he reached the last video.
The moment it played, No.54’s face filled the screen—tense, frightened. She handed Pinecone a note and repeated herself over and over:
“Pinecone! You’ve to get this note to Linneya as soon as possible, okay? Only Linneya can read it. Only Linneya!”
“Pinecone,” Minks said at the sound of the name, “Minks’s companion.”
“Minks—quiet,” Linneya said sharply, wiping her face and forcing herself to focus.
All three of them stared at the screen, unblinking.
Pinecone squeaked twice—”chi-chi!”—then slipped out through a ventilation opening.
12:49. Pinecone left No.54’s room.
Next came footage of Pinecone sprinting along the tower’s outer wall. There were a few six-legged guards outside, but not many—nowhere near enough to pose a real threat. Pinecone easily avoided them.
12:53. Pinecone returned to Linneya’s room without incident.
The three exchanged looks.
So it wasn’t discovered then.
Pinecone entered the room, found no one inside, placed the note on Linneya’s desk, connected itself to power, and sat down to wait.
They watched until 13:12.
Pinecone was still waiting.
Eisen fast-forwarded, all the way to 15:36.
Pinecone barely moved the entire time.
15:37. The door suddenly opened.
Pinecone seemed to think it was Linneya. It started forward—then stopped, instantly cautious.
The one who entered wasn’t Linneya.
It was Molly.
Molly came in carrying freshly cleaned clothes. Then she noticed the note on the desk. Curious, she stepped closer.
In that instant, Pinecone snatched the note and bolted straight out through the window.
In the last split second before the footage left the room, they saw Molly lift a communicator and shout, urgent and sharp:
“Calling security—Level 208 has something suspicious…”
(After Pinecone left the room, the audio became too muffled to make out.)