Inversion

Chapter XI

Okay. Move.

You crept back down, avoiding the creaky third step, your socks silent on the wood. The living room was a landscape of shadows now. You went to the front window, peeling back the curtain just enough.

Eleven was still there. A small, pale smudge in the darkness, hugging herself against the cold. She hadn't moved an inch. The sight sent a sharp pang through your ribs. Jesus. She really just... waits for orders.

You unlocked the front door, the snick of the bolt echoing in the quiet. You opened it just a crack, a sliver of indoor light cutting across the porch.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide and alert.

You jerked your head in a sharp, come here motion.

She moved like a ghost, slipping through the opening without a sound. The second she was inside, you shut the door, re-engaging the lock. The two of you stood in the dark hallway, listening. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and her shallow, nervous breathing.

She looked even smaller indoors, dwarfed by the normalcy of your hallway. Her eyes darted around, taking in the family photos on the wall, the coat rack, all the mundane artifacts of a life she'd never had.

You put a finger to your lips. Quiet.

She nodded, her expression deadly serious.

You pointed up the stairs, then to your room. You mouthed the words: Follow me.

You led the way, moving with a practiced stealth you didn't know you had. She was right behind you, a silent shadow. You paused outside your mother's door, both of you frozen, listening to the faint sound of her shifting in bed. Then you slipped the last few feet into your bedroom, pulling Eleven in after you and closing the door with the softest click imaginable.

The two of you stood in the dark of your room. The only light came from the digital clock on your nightstand: 11:07 PM.

It was done. She was in.

You let out a breath you felt like you'd been holding for an hour. "Alright alright, make yourself feel at home." You gestured vaguely to your bed, the desk, the whole damn room.

But Eleven just stood there, rooted to the spot in the middle of your rug. Her arms were locked stiff at her sides, her shoulders hunched. She wasn't just still; she was a statue, like moving might trigger some unseen alarm. Her eyes, wide and dark, scanned the room not with curiosity, but with a deep, programmed wariness. A place like this—cluttered, personal, safe—was probably more alien to her than the lab she was in.

Right. Not a normal kid. Lab rat. They probably didn't have "make yourself at home" time between torture sessions.

A frustrated sigh built in your chest, but you swallowed it down. It wasn't her fault.

"Okay. New plan," you murmured, your voice low. You pointed to the floor by your bed. "You can sit. Right there. It's fine."

She looked at the spot, then back at you, a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. She took one small, hesitant step. Then another. She moved like the floor might be electrified, finally lowering herself to the ground with a quiet, stiff grace. She sat with her back perfectly straight, her hands folded in her lap, staring at the wall.

Christ. She doesn't even know how to slouch.

You watched her for a second, this strange, broken girl sitting on your floor like a soldier awaiting debriefing. The silence stretched, thick and awkward. You ran a hand through your hair, the day's exhaustion crashing down on you all at once.