Ada woke late the next morning, aching and hungry. She made herself a large bowl of porridge with cream and brown sugar and ate it quickly, before (slightly guiltily) taking another bowl through to her father's laboratory. As she'd suspected, without her influence he'd stayed there through the night without eating anything.

"Very good timing that you came along now," he said, between spoonfuls of porridge eaten standing up. "I was just beginning to suspect that I might be hungry."

"You have to take better care of yourself, Dad," Ada said, glad to focus the comfortably familiar.

"I know, I know, I'm reminded of this often. I'm just happy to have my daughter here to draw my attention to the mundane necessities."

Ada clicked her teeth together quietly as she watched her father eat.

"Dad..."

"Mm? Yes, my treasure?"

Ada looked at her father, forcing herself not to click her teeth together. Childish habit, she told herself. You haven't done that for years. Stop it.

"You ... have you..."

Her father's expression was open and gentle, a faintly confused smile on his face. Ada sighed.

"You've spilt porridge down your beard," she said, picking up a cloth and holding it out for him.

"Ah, I'm so clumsy. Thank you, Ada."

"I'll take your bowl now—are you still hungry?"

"No, I'm—oh!"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Ada's hands had slipped as she'd taken the bowl, sending it clattering down on to the wooden laboratory floor, the sudden loud noise disturbing the nearby animals. Silently, her mouth tight, Ada bent down to recover it, wiping the spilt cream from the floor as her father watched helplessly.

"Are you fine?" he asked as she stood again.

"Of course. I'm fine. I'll go wash your bowl—you should take a rest."

Ada fled the laboratory, squinting to try to force her eyes to focus. She took the bowl to the kitchen and washed it hurriedly, along with her own bowl and spoon—she realised then that the spoon her father had used was still in the lab, must have bounced away when she'd dropped the bowl, but she couldn't bring herself to go and get it. Instead she left the dishes drying beside the sink and left the apartment, in sudden desperate need of fresh air. She walked along the familiar corridors, breathing deeply and consciously, the red carpet beneath her feet and the dark wooden panelling of the walls around her comforting—she could see down to the courtyard from here, too, through the carved stone windows to her left, and she stopped and steadied herself and focused on the bustle of activity below, regular and reassuring.

"Goodness me, here's one with all the troubles of the world on her slim shoulders. Whatever is the matter, Miss Hasard?"

Ada looked up to see one of her father's oldest friends standing in the corridor, his arms filled with rolled-up charts and long metal tubes.

"Hello, Professor Greviste," she said, managing a weak smile. "Was I looking sad?"

"Are you feeling sad?"

"No, just ... confused, I guess."

"Ah. Confusion. Now that is an emotion I am very familiar with. Is it anything I can help with?"

"Probably not," Ada said, with a small sigh.

"Well, you know my door is always open to you—and to that wayward father of yours, I feel as if I haven't seen him in months. You should both come around for tea sometime soon."

Ada nodded. "That sounds nice."

"Ah, the enthusiasm of youth." Greviste smiled at Ada. "I hope your confusion clears soon, Miss Hasard. As for myself, I'm up to the roof to indulge in a little confusion of my own. That storm played merry hell with my medians."

"Good luck," Ada said, as Greviste ambled off. That's right, she thought, watching him go. True scientists don't give up just because something goes wrong or they don't understand what's happening. Confusion doesn't mean failure, it just means you have to work harder to understand.

Ada glanced behind herself, then turned and started walking. Until I figure this out, she thought, I've got to create a proper environment for experimentation.