Only a single candle flickered beside a blank sheet of parchment.
A hand hovered above it, slow and deliberate. Nearby, a shallow bowl gave off a faint scent, citrus, with something sharper underneath. The ink inside was nearly invisible. Colorless to the eye. But not to the flame.
It was a method taught to all agents. A gift from The Planner.
"If your words must be hidden," the lesson said, "then use this."
The quill touched down. Scratched once. Then again.
Subject: Henry Evan Godfrey.
Age: Three. Male.
Observation window: Ongoing.
The strokes were sharp. Mechanical. But the candle's flame twitched as the next line formed.
Intelligence markers exceed expected thresholds.
Capable of rapid deduction, reverse engineering, abstract logic.
The hand paused.
Subject has left the mansion at night.
Entered gambling den. Initiated chaos after major winning.
Low tier loan shark Hyness confirmed dead.
Financial acumen and risk tolerance present at unexpected levels.
The quill dipped again.
Innovation potential: High.
Behavioral patterns deviate from developmental norms.
Risk category: to be reclassified...
The hand trembled. Just once.
No new word followed.
Instead rain.
It hadn't rained in weeks, yet the scent of wet stone and rotting wood filled the room. A memory, uninvited.
Fingers, smaller then, clutching a soaked blanket. A child, boy or girl, it didn't matter, standing barefoot in the alley behind the orphanage. Cold water running between cracked stones. Shivering from the cold.
Someone had watched.
The candle hissed. The memory cracked like glass.
Back to ink. Back to duty.
Subject may pose strategic advantage… or threat.
Cognitive architecture is layered. Possibly foreign in origin.
The quill moved faster now, like it was trying to outrun the thing clawing its way out of memory.
Approach remains passive. Surveillance only.
Do not engage.
Do not interact.
Do not...
A pause.
The next line came out thinner. Less certain.
Everything goes according to his plan.
Perhaps… Henry and ThePlanner would get along.
The flame sputtered.
Another memory slipped through.
A hallway. Stone walls. Children seated in silence, backs straight, eyes down. No one looking at each other. Not allowed.
Silence came first.
Then obedience.
Then the craft.
Speech was withheld until words could be shaped into weapons.
One smile cost a week's worth of rations.
Laughter was a reportable offense.
There had been lessons.
Not in reading, but in disappearing.
Not in math, but in meaning.
You were not adopted.
You were claimed.
A tool with a pulse. Sharpened. Stored.
The parchment grew heavier beneath the quill, as if it too remembered.
Current assignment remains valid.
Subject unaware of proximity.
Communication frequency with external agents: none.
A single drop of invisible ink slid toward the edge of the page.
Risk category to be reclassified:
From Low to...
The sentence halted. Not from hesitation.
The word simply wouldn't come.
A moment flickered, brief but piercing, where memory and observation blurred.
A pair of eyes, younger than expected, staring straight through a window.
As if aware.
As if calculating.
And just like that, the pen lifted.
Not out of fear.
Not exactly.
Jealousy, perhaps. Or recognition.
ThePlanner sees the full board.
Did ThePlanner know there would be children like this?
A breath.
Silence, once more.
The candle had burned low. Wax pooled beside the parchment.
The words, now dried, were invisible to any ordinary light.
The hand that wrote them rested beside the page, unmoving.
The report remained.
Not sealed. Not signed.
Not yet sent.