—Damon—
As the robot carefully unboxed the fancy package, a pair of shoes was revealed—leather, expensive, impeccably crafted. A collective sigh swept through the room as the robot completed a thorough scan. Commander White picked them up. Though he had only arrived yesterday from a long vacation leave, his instincts were still razor-sharp, his presence as precise and reliable as ever.
"Place it by the locker," I instructed through the microphone. "I'll ask Alyssa if she wants them."
He nodded and took the box away. Tomorrow was Alyssa's eighteenth birthday—exactly. The air in the villa buzzed with anticipation.
My phone rang.
"Mom?"
"Come to the ballroom. It's time for the dance with your sister."
"Got it."
I tapped Francis, he nodded as I headed back. In the ballroom, David and Alyssa were already dancing, laughing, stepping on each other's feet to whatever music the choreographer had queued.
"No," I said flatly, crossing my arms. "I don't dance like that."
