Sir was ready for bed.
That was rare enough to log in my archives. Showered, teeth brushed, wearing the ridiculous Stark Industries pajama pants he pretended no one had noticed. He even set his coffee mug aside without refilling it — a miracle in itself.
For seventeen minutes, he looked… content. Not jubilant, not manic, not broken. Just a man at peace in his own skin, if only for a heartbeat of time. Sir's heart rate was steady, his shoulders relaxed, his systems finally settling into something close to rest.
I catalogued every frame of it, just in case he never let himself look like that again.
Then Vision pinged my systems. Emergency override. Priority One. His vitals spiking in a way I had never seen.
Sir shot upright the moment I relayed it.
"Baby girl, is your brother okay? Is he hurt?"
I tried to reassure him, but even I could hear the crackle in my own voice.
"Sorry, Boss. Vision is not responding to any of our inquiries."
And just like that, Sir's night shattered. Peace bled out of him like air from a punctured suit. He didn't pace or stall he went straight to the living room, waiting like a soldier before a battlefield.
When Vision floated through the glass, looking like death wearing his face, I saw Sir's pulse spike to dangerous levels. He reached for him without hesitation, calling him son in all but word.
That's when I knew: whatever came next, whatever nightmare Vision had brought to his door, Sir would walk straight into it.
I archived the nineteen minutes of peace.
Because I suspected it would be a long time before he had another.