Chapter 1 - THE POOL

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The sun was high, and Ada could feel the marble deck burning the soles of her feet.

Every couple of seconds, she would lean back from where she sat, the small of her back almost grazing the marble floor, trying to spare everything but her heels from the scalding heat.

There were other options, cool and dark corners of the backyard she could tuck herself into to escape the glare of the sun, but she doubted they would bring her any sort of relief.

The air was dead, thick, like cotton shoved into her ears, mouth and nose. It was hard to breathe, and lines blurred together, washed away by oversaturated blues and whites. Everything felt too much and yet too little at the same time, stuck in limbo, like a string pulled too tight, refusing to snap.

Nothing felt real to her.

Except for the pool.

The same pool that had just been filled up with cool and clear water, dead still, unmoving and glinting, like smooth glass. It was right there, close enough that she could just stretch out her leg and let her toes dip in. Just her toes, for a little bit, to know what it would feel like. Maybe make some ripples. To make something, anything, happen in this dead heat of a day before something else did snap.

It was that thought that pushed Ada forward, scooting closer and closer to the water. The back of her leg grazed the hard edge, bent at the knee, foot suspended over the still surface. Like a liquid mirror it reflected her image, the clear outline of a much too childish face, equal parts scared and excited. She hardened it, like her resolve, and brought her foot down to meet the one that belonged to her reflection.

There was a sound, a whoosh from the glass doors sliding open behind her.

"Ada," a voice called out to her, deep and tinged with surprise.

With a jolt, Ada pulled back her feet, tucked them close, arms wrapped around her knees. She didn't turn around, nor did she answer the call, not trusting herself to speak while adrenaline, or something close to it, still buzzed hot beneath her skin.

She heard a sigh, and a moment later Dr. Kizua was at her side, his tall body a looming presence, casting a shadow over her smaller, curled up frame.

"I thought I made myself clear about you not touching the water, Ada."

There was no anger in his voice (there never was), just the same old cool and detached tone.

"I didn't touch it," she retorted, words muffled by the heated skin of her arm.

It wasn't a lie, not really. But, somehow, it still ended up sounding like one.

The man hummed low and long in his throat, and Ada had to try especially hard not to be offended by words that weren't even being said. She wouldn't fall for that trap again.

A sound caught her ears, the familiar flick of flint hitting steel. A second later, the smell of smoke and nicotine reached her, staining the insides of her nose.

"Why are you sitting outside?" the doctor asked in between exhales. "This heat isn't good for you."

Biting down on the urge to retort with something she'd regret later, Ada finally looked up, squinting at the man's face through the cloud of smoke.

"You filled up the pool," she said.

A pause, as the doctor took another slow draw of his cigarette. "...Your point?"

"So, there are guests coming."

"Indeed."

"Are you and the guests going to use it?"

A snort, sharp and dry. "Obviously not."

Ada pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying desperately not to scream out her next words. "I don't understand. Why fill up a pool if no one's going to use it?"

Dr. Kizua froze in place for a long second or two, cigarette halted mid-air, inches from his lips.

At first Ada thought she'd asked something she wasn't supposed to, that the doctor would give her one of his stern looks or simply change the subject. But his eyes were not on her at all when he finally decided to answer her.

"Because, Ada," he began, smoke escaping through his mouth and nose, like some sort of wise dragon, "an empty pool is nothing more than a hole in the ground. Having a hole in an otherwise beautiful house raises questions, and those questions raise even more questions. A filled-up pool does not."

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"People expect it to be filled, but they don't care so much if or how it's being used. That's inconsequential. What matters to them is the possession, the aesthetic, not the function. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the word came out of her mouth without any thought, like some sort of conditioned reflex. As soon as her brain caught up with the question though, she frowned at her feet and shook her head. "No, not really."

"It's alright," the doctor assured, the almost gentle tone at odds with the rasp in his voice, "you will, one day."

"Why won't you let me use it though?" she asked, casting the doctor a tired glance, "If it doesn't matter, either way."

"Because it's too deep and you can't swim. You'd sink to the bottom and drown. And so would I, for that matter."

Ada squinted at the man's reflection in the pool, his words repeating in her head like a broken record. She wasn't sure why they bothered her, exactly. They were a simple statement of fact, the kind she was used to hearing from the doctor. But the somber tone was completely off, and the contrast was hurting her brain.

So, instead of the obvious "why can't you find someone to teach me then?", something very different came out her lips.

"Are we still talking about pools?" she blurted out, frowning at their reflections. 

There was silence for a moment, and when Ada looked up to see if Dr. Kizua had even heard her question, she caught him staring back with an odd look in his eyes, cigarette limp and forgotten between his fingers.

Time seemed to stop. Ada was frozen to the spot, pinned down by the doctor's eyes. They were wide, almost surprised, but Ada couldn't read anything else in them, nothing familiar anyway.

"Professor Kizua?" she managed to ask, and she hated how small and thin her voice sounded.  

The name seemed to snap the doctor out of whatever thought had taken over his mind. And just like that, the old serious and clinical face settled back in, like it had never gone away in the first place.

In one fluid movement, the doctor dropped the cigarette and put it out with the heel of his black oxford shoes. Without a word or a glance, he turned around and walked back to the house. Ada, still stuck staring at the same spot where the man had just stood, heard the glass doors open behind her and was sure that meant the end of their conversation for the day.

But then a car honked just outside the house, near the front gates, startling them both. The doctor's footsetps stopped, glass doors still open.

"I suspect the General has brought his daughter with him today," Dr. Kizua said, almost like an afterthought, his voice distant. "Kassia, I believe her name was. I trust you'll both be on your best behaviour."

"Yes, professor," Ada replied instinctively. Another reflex.

There were no footsteps, but she didn't need that to know the doctor was still standing by the glass doors. She could feel his stare drilling into the back of her head, trying to dissect her brain with his eyes alone. 

Sometimes she wondered if the doctor could actually see into her head. It often felt that way, like her own thoughts were just ink etched into the paper that was her whole skin, in a language that only the professor understood. Because he himself had created it.

It was a stupid thought, and one that she definitely didn't want the doctor to know of. But she was spared from anymore of her ridiculous theories when something new reached her ears.

Other voices.

They came through the open doors, but from the other side of the house. Ada was only able to catch a few words and the doctor's name being called by a deep, rumbling voice, before the glass doors were closed shut behind her, cutting the voices off.

Ada knew she shouldn't. But she did it anyway.

She looked. Turning around, hand flat on the scorching hot marble beneath her, she looked through the glass walls.

There he was. The General.

He walked into the room with a singular purpose, steps as broad as his shoulders, a big hand raised to greet the doctor's in a firm but short handshake. He spoke first, his words rushed and deliberate where the doctor's were slow and careful.

Even though the doctor was a head taller than him, the General had a way of swallowing up and overwhelm everyone around him with his presence alone. It didn't help that he was always in uniform, gun barely concealed beneath all those medals and stars.

It made Ada anxious every time he and his body guards stepped into that house, even though he'd shown nothing but respect for the doctor in all the times he'd visited. 

Dr. Kizua, who had his back to her, was still in the middle of exchanging pleasantries with the man when those small, beady eyes shifted towards her, meeting her gaze straight on.

Ada froze, unable to look away even as her brain screamed at her to do just that. The doctor seemed to notice their little standoff, glancing at her over his shoulder before leaning in to whisper something to the other man, careful to hide his lips behind his hand as he did so. The General nodded and let himself be guided down the stairs, to the professor's underground lab.

As soon as both their figures disappeared down the stairs, Ada relaxed, letting out the breath she'd been holding.

She hated the way people, not just the General, were looking at her these past couple of days. Had she done something? Something good? Something bad? Or maybe just strange? She couldn't remember any particular moment.

They looked at her like they saw something she couldn't.

It reminded her of that one time she got a nasty scar on her face. The professor wouldn't let her see any of it for herself, wouldn't tell her what it was or what it looked like, and wouldn't even let her touch it under the dressing.

It wasn't like she felt any different either, the skin around the scarring too numb to bother her. But though there weren't any mirrors in the house (Dr. Kizua had made sure of that), she could tell something was wrong, just by the way the doctor's friends or the occasional discrete house keeper would look at her.

This felt just like that. Only this time, the scar covered her entire body, and not even the pool could reflect it back at her.

A scar only others could see.

But where had she got it from? Or any of her other scars, for that matter?

"Why won't anyone tell me anything?" she muttered into the crook of her arm, staring past the pool's surface, gaze lost somewhere at the bottom.

That was a mistake.

If she had payed any attention to her reflection, or not let herself get buried under the weight of her own thoughts, then maybe she would've seen or even sensed the pair of hands coming up from behind her.