The next day, Cross goes into Victoire's room. The door creaked open as Cross stepped inside, the scent of fresh paint and the faint hum of a laptop filling the air. Leo was absent, likely following his usual unpredictable path somewhere else in the house. Victoire was seated at her small desk, her back to the door, absorbed in a meticulously organized mess of files, textbooks, and sticky notes.

She must have heard his footsteps because she didn’t flinch when he entered. Instead, she simply tilted her head slightly and said, “You’re early.”

Cross smirked, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. “I'm old, but I don't sleep like it. 5:00 AM is still drilled into my head." He let out a short, dry chuckle as he walked over, pulled out a spare chair, and sat down. "You know what they say, 'old habits die hard,'" he said, speaking more to himself than to Victoire. His eyes scanned the stacks of papers on her desk, taking in the rows of handwritten notes, prints of brain scans, and a particularly thick file marked LEO in bold, block letters.

Cross picked up the file, looking at it with confusion as he flipped through it. "Oh, shit... You’ve been keeping track of everything this whole time? That's an insane amount of detail, Doc.” He flipped through a few pages, pausing on a particularly dense section of elaborated neural development notes, then another on behavioral patterns, before moving to yet another filled with specifications Leo still doesn't possess. "What exactly are you diagramming here?"

Victoire turned around fully, pushing her glasses up her nose with a sigh. "Well, I've started cataloging his progress—physically, mentally, psychologically. Everything. Keeping track of how he's developing compared to most gifted children.” She reached out and flipped open another binder to a highlighted series of graphs. "See these? His processing speed, his motor skills, even his brain waves are all off the charts. Way beyond what we'd expect from a natural human, never mind a child. He's consistently exceeding everything thought possible."

Cross leaned in, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "So, what you're saying is..."

Victoire adjusted her glasses, her tone cautious but excited. "I'm saying, Cross, that Leo is becoming something more than just a prodigy. He might have the most perfect body in all of human history, his only Achilles' heel being his autism, but that can be worked on."

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me," Cross muttered under his breath, the weight of Victoire’s words settling heavily in his chest. He flicked through the pages again, skimming over the endless data points that painted a picture of something almost inhumanly precise. A perfect body. A perfect mind. A perfect—what? Weapon? Miracle? Cross wasn’t sure which was more terrifying.

He glanced up at Victoire, her eyes alight with scientific fascination, but the look on his face must have told her everything. Her enthusiasm dimmed just a little, replaced by something closer to unease.

"You’re freaking out," she said, her tone shifting from excitement to concern. "Cross, I know this is a lot, but—"

"You don’t get it, Doc." Cross cut her off, his voice low but sharp. He slammed the file shut and leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. "Leo is going to be seen by the Gerousia next week, and if they find out that he's not able to fight... they'll kill him.”

Victoire's eyes blazed behind her glasses, her grip tightening on the edge of the desk. The warmth in her voice from moments ago had evaporated, replaced by a sharp, cold edge. "Get what!? That a child—an autistic child—has to be inspected like some kind of defective product? Cross, have you lost your goddamn mind?"

Cross held up a hand, his voice steady but strained. "Victoire, I don’t have a choice. The Gerousia’s rules are ironclad. Every child who is chosen and has something wrong with them, even a minor issue, has to be evaluated. That’s how it’s always been."

"Bullshit!" Victoire slammed a palm against the desk, making the papers jump. "You’re the one who runs this place! You make the rules! You could tell them that you run this shit!"

Cross's jaw clenched, but he didn’t raise his voice. "It’s not that simple. If I ignore the inspection, they won’t just question Leo—they’ll question me. Everything I’ve built, everything we’ve worked so hard for, could come crashing down. They’ve already had doubts about my leadership. One wrong move, and they’ll take it as proof I’m weak or corrupt like Headmaster Uʻilani."

Victoire stood abruptly, her chair scraping back with a sharp squeal. "Cross... I'm begging you, don't do this to him. They won't understand his condition; they'll hear autism and kill him on the spot."

“Victoire,” Cross said, his voice low and firm, his gaze never leaving the files. “I don't want to either... But it has to be done; I'm sorry." The room fell silent, the tension so thick it felt like it could be carved with a knife. Cross's voice was low, but the words carried a weight that made Victoire's stomach drop.

Suddenly, Leo came out of his room, rubbing his eyes. "Did someone say my name?" Leo asked, his voice soft but curious as he looked at them.

Victoire's expression softened instantly, her anger melting away at the sight of the sleepy child. "Leo, sweetheart, it's nothing really. We're just having a disagreement."

Cross forced a smile, his voice gentle but strained. "Yeah, just grown-up stuff, kid. Nothing you need to worry about. I can also see that you're finally talking now..." This made Cross feel even more uncomfortable.

“I've been working on my words a lot so that everyone can understand me better. If I want to be a good teacher." The calmness and maturity in Leo’s voice contrasted with the ruffled atmosphere and tension in the room.

Cross’s gaze softened as he looked at Leo, but his mind was already racing about how he was growing, changing, and thinking in ways the Gerousia never would’ve anticipated. He swallowed hard; the weight of this decision and the gravity of the Gerousia’s impending inspection felt like a noose around his neck.

"That’s… good work, Leo." His voice fumbled, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.

Victoire reached out, guiding Leo to sit down on the bed and ruffling his hair affectionately. "You know, Leo, you're going to have a little 'check-up' with someone this week who's not going to be me." Cross’s gaze darkened slightly as he turned away from the boy’s trusting eyes, his jaw tightening. He knew Victoire saw it—the flinch, the hesitation—because her own spine stiffened in response.

"But why? You're a kid doctor, right? Why do I have to get a check-up with someone else?" Leo tugged at Victoire’s sleeve, his eyes wide and curious. "Are they nicer than you?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with that eerie, detached tone of his.

Victoire’s breath caught. She glanced at Cross, who was staring out the window, his jaw working like he was grinding his teeth into dust. The silence stretched too long.

Then Cross turned back, his face carefully blank. "Nope. They’re exactly the same. Just… stricter."

Victoire shot him a glare that could melt steel, but Leo tilted his head, unreadable. "Like… stricter how?"

Victoire rubbed his cheek. "Strict like… not nice," she said, trying to soften the blow.

Cross, still standing by the door, felt a pang of guilt. He knew he was lying, and so did Victoire. The Gerousia's inspection wouldn't be "just stricter"; it would be a cold, clinical evaluation that could end in Leo's termination if he didn't meet their expectations. The weight of that responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders, and for a moment, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

As the conversation continued, Cross couldn't shake off the feeling that he was trapped. Trapped between his duty to the Fraternity and his growing attachment to Leo. Trapped between the need to protect Leo and the danger that the Gerousia posed. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had to find a way to navigate this situation without losing everything he’d worked for.

"I'll... I'll make sure you're prepared, Leo," Cross said, his voice a little softer, a little more genuine. "You'll be fine."

Leo nodded, still looking curious, but Victoire's expression remained skeptical. She knew Cross was hiding something, and she wasn't going to let it slide.

The tension in the room lingered, a silent understanding passing between Cross and Victoire. They both knew that the coming inspection was more than just a routine check-up; it was a make-or-break moment for Leo and for Cross's own future within the Fraternity.

But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. He had to make sure that Leo was ready, no matter what the Gerousia threw their way. And he knew that Victoire would be right there beside him, fighting for Leo's future with every ounce of strength she had.

The fate of a child hung in the balance, and Cross was caught in the middle, torn between his duty and his heart. The outcome was far from certain, but one thing was clear: the next few days would be crucial, and the consequences of their actions would be felt for a long time to come.

"Leo, you can go into the daycare by yourself. I'll be there shortly, sweetheart." As Leo walked out, the tension in the room eased slightly. Victoire turned to Cross, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and concern.

"You can't seriously expect me to just stand by and watch while they... while they evaluate Leo like some kind of lab rat," she said, her voice low but urgent.

Cross sighed, rubbing his temples. "Victoire, I know this isn't ideal, but we have to play by the rules. If we don't, it could mean... it could mean the end for the good change I have going on here." Victoire's words made Cross flinch. He avoided her gaze, focusing on a stain on the worn floorboards. The thought of Leo being deemed unacceptable, of the Fraternity’s cold efficiency turning on a child, was a knot tightening in his gut. He’d buried those feelings deep, considered them weaknesses to be purged, but they resurfaced now, sharp and insistent.

"They won't kill him, Victoire. Not while I live," Cross said, his voice firm.

"And how exactly do you plan to stop them, Cross? Are you going to threaten the Gerousia themselves? The people who decide if you even get to run this place?" Victoire’s voice was laced with a bitter sarcasm that stung him more than any direct accusation.

Cross finally met her eyes, his own filled with a grim resolve. "I'll find a way. I always do." He pushed off the doorframe, his shoulders slumping slightly as he walked toward her desk. "Look, I know you’re scared. I am too. But Leo… he's stronger than you think. And he’s smart. He’ll adapt. He always adapts as far as I know."

Victoire let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair. "Adapt? To being treated like a specimen? To having his very being dissected by a council of old men who see emotions as liabilities and differences as defects?" She scoffed, a humorless sound. "He's a child, Cross, not a lab experiment."

"He’s both," Cross stated, his voice flat. "And you know it, too."

Victoire snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. "How dare you—!"

Cross cut her off, his eyes locking onto hers, no longer hiding the hard edge beneath his weariness. "Don't try to play me for a fool, Doc. I may not be Leo-level smart, but I'm far from stupid. I know you saw the Project Übermensch file. The one you dug up behind my back."

"If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?" Victoire demanded, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "Why let me think I was being so damn clever, digging up secrets behind your back, when you already knew all along?"

Cross’s gaze softened, a flicker of something akin to admiration in his eyes. "Because it didn’t matter, Victoire. Not to me. I knew what you’d find. And I knew it wouldn’t change a thing. You didn’t flinch. You saw the truth of what he is—the project, the genetic modifications, the unnatural part of him—and you still went above and beyond. You’re still fighting for him, still loving him unconditionally, even knowing he’s not ‘human’ in the way people understand it." He paused, his voice rough with an emotion he rarely showed. "That’s all the proof I needed."

That admission hung in the air, a fragile truce between two people burdened by a monstrous secret. Victoire’s anger, for a moment, seemed to ebb, replaced by a quiet, dawning understanding.

"So you… you knew," she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. "You knew everything."

Cross nodded, stepping away from the doorframe and moving closer to her, his eyes fixed on her. "I get it. I know what the Gerousia will focus on and what they'll miss. They won't see the kid you've raised; they'll only see the… the project. The potential problem. And I have to try and shield him from that."

Victoire leaned back in her chair, the spark gone from her eyes, replaced by a tired frustration. "But seriously, Cross, how do you protect a kid who just doesn't fit in with any of their rules? They'll pick him apart, looking for any little thing that shows he's not right for us."

Cross walked over to her desk, his eyes scanning the detailed files on Leo’s development. He picked up a page with a diagram of Leo’s neural pathways, intricate and complex beyond anything he’d ever seen. "Because we’re going to give them a weakness. A flaw they can understand. Something that makes him ‘fit’ their narrow little box."

Victoire looked up, a flicker of suspicion in her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Cross’s lips tightened into a grim line. "We play their game. We show them what they expect to see." He tapped the diagram. "He’s got Asperger’s. That’s his Achilles’ heel, isn’t it? The emotional processing overload, the difficulty with social cues, the literal interpretation of the world. We lean into that."

Victoire’s jaw dropped. "You want to emphasize his autism? Make it his perceived flaw? Cross, that’s insane! They’ll use it as an excuse to discard him, to deem him incapable!"

"Exactly," Cross said, his voice flat. "They’ll see it as a liability in combat, a lack of emotional control or adaptability. But what they won’t realize is that his autism is also his greatest strength.

His focus, his analytical mind, his ability to process information at an inhuman speed—it’s all tied to it. They’ll think they’re seeing a defect when, in reality, they’re seeing a highly specialized, incredibly powerful mind they simply don’t understand."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We’ll present him as someone who needs guidance to overcome his ‘limitations.’ Someone who needs our methods to harness his raw potential. They’ll see a challenge, not an immediate threat to be neutralized."

Victoire stared at him, her mind reeling. The audacity of the plan was staggering, almost brilliant in its twisted logic. It was a gamble, a dangerous manipulation of prejudiced minds, but it might just work.

"And if they see through it?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Cross’s expression hardened. "Then we fight. But this… this buys us time. It gives us a chance. And it gives Leo a chance to grow, to learn, to be something more than just a genetic experiment. It gives him a chance to be a child."

He looked at her, his eyes weary but resolute. "Are you with me, Doc?"

Victoire looked down at the file, at the intricate diagrams of Leo’s extraordinary mind, then back at Cross. The risk was immense, the moral implications unsettling, but the alternative—the thought of Leo being deemed disposable—was unbearable.

She let out a long, shaky breath, then slowly nodded. "Alright, Cross. We do it your way. But if they hurt him… if they even try…" Her voice trailed off, but the unspoken threat hung heavy in the air.

Cross gave a curt nod. "They won’t. Not on my watch." He turned and walked to the door, his silhouette framed against the hallway light. "Now, let’s get Leo ready for his ‘check-up.’ We’ve got a lot to teach him in a short amount of time." He opened the door, then paused, looking back at Victoire. "And for God’s sake, try to look a little less like you’re planning a funeral, Doc. We need to sell this."

With that, he stepped out, leaving Victoire alone in the room, the weight of their desperate gamble settling heavily on her shoulders.

Leo was humming to himself, putting the last piece of the tough geometric puzzle in its spot. He'd aced every puzzle, even the really tricky ones that usually stumped the older kids. He looked at his work, feeling good about finishing,

but also… something else. A weird little tremor in the air, a quiet hum under the everyday noise. It wasn't something he heard or saw, but a feeling, like the calm before a storm. He tilted his head, looking around the colorful room, at the other kids and the toys, like he was trying to find out what was causing this strange hunch. Everything seemed normal, but he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that something big was about to happen.

Why does my heart feel so heavy? Like I'm going to lose a part of me? Leo thought to himself, not able to shake off this feeling. He looked around the colorful room, like he was trying to find out what was causing this strange hunch. Everything seemed normal, but he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that something big was about to happen.