ELLA

“That’s what he does, Ella,” Darren says, his voice solemn. Soft as a breeze yet heavy as a rock.

My brain screeches to a halt.

I stand up without realizing it, staring at the structure. What’s supposed to be a hand but is really just a piece of metal and screws and joints and—

And nothing.

Some top-notch, barely affordable design.

It makes a slow, barely noticeable whirring sound, connected to Darren’s nerves and moves as he commands.

So that’s why. That’s why ...