Chapter 35: The Apartment Trap

【Seda PoV】

We arrived at my apartment complex looking like drowned rats.

The lobby was warm and dry, fluorescent lights harsh after the grey rain. My shoes squelched against the tile floor. Water dripped from my hair, forming a small puddle around my feet. I was still shivering, though less violently now that we were out of the wind. The artificial temperature drop from my aura had worn off, but the genuine cold remained, seeping deep into my bones.

Alfred looked relieved to be out of the rain. His cheap umbrella hung broken from one hand, two of the spokes bent at weird angles. His uniform was nearly as soaked as mine. Water dripped from his hair onto his shoulders.

He was already angling toward the exit.

“Okay, you’re home. Get warm, change clothes, maybe take a hot shower.”

His voice carried that nervous energy that meant he was preparing to flee. Classic Alfred escape protocol engaging. He took one step backward, toward the safety of the outside world.

Not happening.

“Negative.”

My hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve. The wet fabric bunched under my fingers. I held on with enough pressure to make my intent clear without breaking character.

“Motor functions compromised. Cannot operate elevator. Cannot unlock door. Assistance required.”

I stared at him with those blank doll eyes, expression empty and mechanical. Water dripped from my nose. My lips had gone slightly blue from the cold. I looked pathetic and helpless and completely dependent on him.​

His face cycled through approximately twelve different emotions. Concern. Suspicion. Anxiety. Resignation. The Virgin Shield was fighting against his self-preservation instincts, and I knew exactly which one would win.​

“Just to your door.”

He said it like a negotiation. Like establishing firm boundaries would somehow protect him from whatever was about to happen.

“Acknowledged. Escort to residential unit entrance only.”

I released his sleeve and walked toward the elevator. My movements stayed stiff and robotic, even though my muscles screamed for warmth and normal motion. Each step left wet footprints on the clean tile.

Alfred followed, because of course he did. The Virgin Shield had already made his decision for him.​

The elevator ride was silent except for the quiet hum of machinery and my chattering teeth. Alfred stood as far away as the small space allowed, which was approximately eight inches. Not far enough to matter. I could feel his body heat from here, radiating like a space heater I desperately wanted to press against.

The doors opened on the fourth floor. I led him down the hallway to apartment 4-C, my hands shaking as I reached for my pocket.

Then I stopped. Stood there. Did nothing.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hands frozen. Fine motor control offline. Cannot retrieve access key.”

I turned to face him, holding up my hands. They were shaking, pale, fingers stiff from cold. Not entirely an act anymore. I really was having trouble with coordination.

“You want me to get your keys.”

“Affirmative. Left pocket. Front.”

I watched his face go through another emotional journey. His eyes darted to my pocket, then away, then back. The pocket in question sat on my hip, part of my uniform skirt. Reaching in would require touching me.

His hands came up, hovering uselessly.

“Can’t you just—”

“Manual dexterity at seventeen percent capacity. Probability of successful retrieval: minimal. Request assistance.”

He made this small sound of defeat. His hand reached out, trembling worse than mine from pure anxiety. His fingers touched my hip, feather-light, like he was defusing a bomb. He fumbled with the pocket, barely making contact with my actual body, and somehow managed to fish out my keys.

The contact lasted maybe five seconds total. He looked like he’d run a marathon. His face was red. His breathing had gone shallow. Absolutely precious.

I took the keys from his shaking hand and turned to the door. Then I dropped them.

The keys hit the floor with a metallic clatter, landing between us.

“Coordination failure. Retrieval impossible.”

Alfred stared at the keys. Then at me. Then back at the keys. He bent down and picked them up, and this time he just unlocked the door himself, probably to speed up the process of escape.

The door swung open. My apartment sat dark and cool and perfectly private. No roommates. No witnesses. No interruptions.

“Okay, you’re in. Stay warm. I’m leaving now.”

He backed toward the hallway, already turning, already planning his retreat route.

I stepped inside and walked straight to the door control panel. My hand hit the manual deadbolt, sliding it home with a loud, definitive click.

“Security protocol engaged. Lockdown mode active.”

Alfred froze mid-step. His hand reached for the handle, turned it, found it locked. He tried again, harder. The deadbolt held firm.

“Seda. Unlock the door.”

“Duration of lockdown: Until thermal equilibrium is restored. Safety protocols require secure environment for system recovery.”

I kept my voice flat and robotic, even as satisfaction bloomed warm in my chest. The manual deadbolt was beautiful in its simplicity. Elizabeth couldn’t hack it remotely because it was just metal and physics. Alfred couldn’t bypass it because he had zero lock-picking skills. He was trapped until I decided otherwise.​

“This isn’t funny. Let me out.”

“System error detected. Hands too cold. Cannot manipulate locking mechanism.”

I held up my still-shaking hands as evidence. Then I kicked off my wet shoes and walked further into the apartment, leaving a trail of water across the hardwood floor.

My living room was exactly as I’d left it this morning. Clean. Minimal. A couch against one wall, coffee table in the center, small TV mounted opposite. The kitchen area sat to the right, separated by a counter. Everything modern and functional and completely private.

“Master. I require maintenance. Towel dry.”

I stood in the center of the living room and waited. My wet uniform clung to my frame. Water dripped from my hair, forming a small puddle at my feet. I looked like a disaster that needed immediate intervention.

Alfred stood by the door, hand still on the useless handle, conflict written across every feature. He was trapped. He knew he was trapped. And now he had to decide whether to keep panicking or accept reality.

“Also detecting secondary risk factor.”

I reached into my other pocket and pulled out my phone. The screen was wet, water droplets clinging to the glass.

“Electronic device exposed to moisture. Water damage imminent. Risk of short circuit. Risk of data loss. Risk of battery combustion.”

I held it out toward him, the phone dangling from my cold fingers.

“Remove. Place in dry location. Prevent catastrophic failure.”

He stared at my phone like it was a live grenade. Which, in a sense, it was. Taking it meant accepting responsibility for my possessions. Meant engaging with the situation instead of fighting against it. Meant admitting defeat.

His shoulders slumped. That resigned posture that meant the Virgin Shield had won completely.​

“Fine. Just give me the phone.”

He walked over and took it from my hand, moving carefully to avoid actual physical contact. I let him have the easy victory. For now.

“Where do you keep towels?”

“Bathroom. Down hall. Second door.”

He disappeared into the hallway, probably grateful for the temporary escape. I heard doors opening, closing, the sound of him rummaging through my linen closet.

I smiled. Just a tiny curve of my lips that vanished before he returned.

Alfred came back with two towels, one of which he immediately draped over my head. His hands hovered near my hair, not quite touching, not quite helping.

“You need to dry off before you actually get hypothermia.”

“Acknowledged. Initiating water removal protocol.”

I rubbed the towel over my hair mechanically, each motion stiff and robotic. Water squeezed out, dripping onto the towel, slowly reducing the drowned-rat effect. My hair went from soaked to merely damp. Better.

“I’m making tea.”

Alfred announced this like he was declaring martial law. He walked into the kitchen area, opening cabinets until he found mugs and an electric kettle. His movements were jerky with nervous energy, the classic Alfred response to situations outside his comfort zone.​

I wrapped the second towel around my shoulders and sat on the couch. The cushions were soft and dry and infinitely more comfortable than standing. I pulled a throw blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around myself, creating a little cocoon of warmth.

From my position, I had a perfect view of Alfred playing house husband in my kitchen. He fumbled with the kettle, nearly dropped a mug, eventually managed to get water heating. His wet uniform dripped onto my floor. His hair stuck up at odd angles where he’d tried to dry it with his hands.

He looked absolutely terrified and it was the most endearing thing I’d seen all day.

My phone sat on the counter where he’d placed it, screen dark. His phone sat in his pocket, probably already buzzing with messages from Ryuuji. Probably asking if they’d made it home safely. Probably trying to maintain that connection I’d worked so hard to sever.

Not on my watch.

The kettle clicked off. Alfred poured water into two mugs, dunked tea bags, added sugar. He brought one over and held it out to me like a peace offering.

“Here. Drink this.”

I took the mug, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic. Heat seeped into my cold fingers. I brought it to my lips and sipped, letting the hot liquid warm me from the inside.

“Systems stabilizing. Core temperature rising to acceptable parameters.”

Alfred stood awkwardly in the middle of my living room, holding his own mug, clearly unsure where to sit or what to do with himself.

Then his phone buzzed.

The sound cut through the quiet apartment like an alarm. He shifted, reaching for his pocket, pulling out the device. The screen lit up his face in blue light.

I saw the name before he could hide it. Ryuuji.

My eyes narrowed. The warm satisfaction in my chest turned sharp and possessive.

Alfred’s thumbs moved toward the keyboard, already composing a response. Already maintaining that connection. Already feeding into the bromance route that would trigger another Genre Shift and make Elizabeth lecture me for hours.​

Time to escalate.

I stood up, letting the blanket fall dramatically to the couch. My wet uniform was still plastered to my frame. Water dripped from my hair onto my shoulders. I moved with that stiff mechanical gait, closing the distance between us.

“Master. Contamination detected.”

I pointed at his rain-soaked uniform, my finger hovering inches from his chest.

“You are wet.”

“I’m fine, it’s just a little—”

“Hygiene standards violated. Bacteria growth imminent in damp fabric. Cross-contamination risk elevated. Must sterilize environment.”

I grabbed his phone from his hand before he could react. My cold fingers closed around the warm device, pulling it from his grip with mechanical precision.

“Confiscating contagion vector.”

I walked to the couch and tossed his phone onto the far cushion, well out of reach. It landed face-down, the buzzing muffled against fabric.

Alfred made this strangled sound of protest.

“Seda, I need—”

“Secondary contamination source identified.”

I pointed at his uniform jacket. Then his shirt. Then his entire outfit with a sweeping gesture that encompassed everything he was wearing.

“All fabric saturated with rainwater. Bacterial culture medium established. Pose health risk to recovering system. Must be removed and sanitized.”

His face went through several shades of red. His hands came up in that defensive gesture.

“I am not taking off my clothes in your apartment.”

“Alternative solution?”

I tilted my head, maintaining the robotic expression even as I calculated my next move.

“Remain in contaminated garments and risk bacterial infection? Risk mold spores? Risk cold virus transmission to recovering system?”

“I’ll just go home and—”

“Door locked. Manual override engaged. Departure unauthorized until thermal equilibrium maintained.”

I moved closer, invading his space with mechanical purpose. My hand reached out and touched his wet jacket sleeve, letting him feel how cold and damp it was.

“Twenty-three minutes in wet clothing. Skin temperature dropping. Immune system compromised. Logic dictates immediate removal of moisture source.”

“This is insane. This is absolutely insane.”

But his hands had already moved to his jacket, fingers working the buttons with shaking movements. The Virgin Shield was betraying him again, prioritizing logic and health over self-preservation.​

I watched with satisfaction as Alfred slowly, reluctantly began removing his wet jacket in my apartment, phone confiscated, door locked, escape routes eliminated.

Ryuuji could text all he wanted. His messages would go unanswered for the foreseeable future.

Victory tasted like hot tea and triumph.