Zyx had eleven days to prove the mayor was not human. After that, the council would vote, and the thing wearing the mayor's face would win. Zyx knew the truth. The mayor blinked sideways when tired. The mayor never cast a shadow near fluorescent light. But knowing was useless. Last week Zyx had stood up at the town meeting and said it plainly. People laughed. The clerk wrote "disturbance" next to Zyx's name. One more outburst and Zyx would be barred from the chamber entirely. So Zyx needed proof. Hard proof, not a feeling. Something a camera could hold. Zyx worked alone in the barn behind the farmhouse, soldering a cheap thermal lens to a borrowed camera. The theory was simple. If the mayor's skin was a disguise, heat would leak through the seams. Zyx had tested it on the dog, on the stove, on a warm loaf of bread. It worked on everything ordinary. It would show nothing unusual on a human. That was the point. The barn door slid open. Sophia came in carrying two mugs, her ponytail swinging, her sneakers already muddy from the walk. "You missed dinner again," she said. She set a mug by Zyx's elbow. "Mom thinks you've lost it. I told her you were always like this." Zyx's sister did not believe the alien theory. She had said so many times. But she still showed up. That was the thing about Sophia. She mocked Zyx and fed Zyx in the same breath. "I need you to do something," Zyx said. "Tomorrow. At the ribbon ceremony." Sophia sat on an overturned crate. "The one where the mayor cuts the ribbon at the new library?" "You'll stand up front. You'll hand the mayor flowers. Get close. I'll film from the side." Zyx held up the camera. "The lens reads heat. If the face is fake, it'll glow at the edges." "And if it doesn't?" "Then I'm wrong, and I stop." Zyx meant it. "Just get close enough. That's all." Sophia stared at the camera a long moment. Then she sighed. "Fine. But if you're wrong, you eat dinner with us every night for a month." The next morning Sophia walked up the library steps holding a bright bouquet of sunflowers and roses. Zyx crouched behind a parked truck, camera steady, screen glowing. The mayor smiled and reached for the flowers. Sophia leaned in close. On Zyx's screen, the mayor's whole face lit up in jagged white lines. Heat poured from a seam along the jaw, another behind each ear. The hands stayed cold. The face burned. No human looked like that. Zyx's breath stopped. The proof was real, and it was recording. Then the mayor's head turned. Not toward Sophia. Toward the truck. Toward the small glowing screen in Zyx's hands. The sideways blink came slow and deliberate. It knew it had been seen.