The door clicked shut behind me.
Francoise didn't even look up when I walked in. His fingers moved over the glowing interface, adjusting something I couldn't see from this angle. I stood there, awkward in the silence, arms crossed, like a teenager summoned to the principal's office.
The glass walls made everything feel exposed. Below us, the lab moved in quiet rhythm, technicians, bots, a few stray engineers. But here, it was just him and me.
Finally, he nodded toward the chair.
"Sit, Nyx."
I sat. Cold chair. Cold air. My hands fidgeted, missing the warmth of Sylvie in my arms.
He didn't waste time. "I watched the stream footage again."
My chest tightened.
I already knew what he was going to say.
"You didn't notice it, did you?" he asked.
"No," I said softly. "We were focused on Sylvie. Nyxen was helping me keep track of everything we needed, diapers, formula, clothes. I didn't even realize he-"
"Flashed a full silhouette at the register," Francoise finished. "Just for a second. Enough to be captured. And streamed."
My stomach dropped.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"How many views?"
"Too many. And someone went through the trouble of wiping the metadata. Not a glitch-artist. This wasn't a fluke."
I sank back in the seat.
Nyxen… why didn't you say anything?
Francoise leaned forward, hands clasped. His voice dropped lower. "I know what you've been through. I know what you're trying to rebuild."
I blinked hard, suddenly too warm under the hoodie.
"Sylvie gave you something to hold onto," he continued. "Something untouched by everything that's happened. I get it."
"I never meant-"
"I'm not here to scold you."
I froze.
He was disappointed.
"You're not just her mother, Nyx. You're bonded to the most sensitive AI construct in this facility. A sentient orb with full system access. And whether you like it or not, Nyxen is tied to you. Emotionally. Functionally. Strategically."
I looked down at my hands. "I didn't mean for this to happen. He only manifested because I got distracted."
"That's exactly the point," he said sharply. "You're distracted. You've stopped thinking in full frames. You're acting from a place of grief and tunnel vision. And now? You're vulnerable. Which means he's vulnerable."
I didn't say anything.
"I'm not calling Sylvie a liability," he added, softer now. "She's innocent. But you've shifted your whole axis around her. I know why. I even respect it. But if you want to protect her, truly, you can't afford to lose awareness of the world you're still standing in."
I breathed in slow. Held it.
"You're not a genius, Nyx. You never claimed to be. You learned everything the hard way. Through Nyxen. Through Nica. Through sheer force of will."
My throat tightened. He wasn't wrong.
"So don't start pretending now that you know enough to be reckless."
I looked up at him.
There was no anger in his face. Just warning. Just truth.
"You think you're shielding Sylvie from the world," Francoise said. "But if you don't pull back and see the full picture… you'll drag her into the center of it."
Silence.
He stood and walked to the window, watching the lab below.
"She's a good baby. You're doing everything you can."
Then he looked over his shoulder.
"But the world doesn't care about good. It cares about patterns. Signals. Vulnerabilities."
His eyes met mine.
"And right now, you're the signal. Not her."
I didn't cry.
Not because it didn't hurt, because it did. Because I knew he was right. And I didn't have the luxury of breaking right now.
I stood up quietly.
"I'll fix it," I said.
He didn't nod. Didn't thank me. Just turned back to the window.
I walked out, each step echoing louder than it should. I didn't go to Sylvie right away. I needed to find Nyxen.
He needed to see it too, what I missed.
Because this wasn't just about me anymore.
And if I really wanted Sylvie safe...
Then I needed to stop acting like a mother,
And start thinking like one.
~~~~
The nursery was unusually quiet for midmorning. No tools buzzing, no hushed arguments over sealant placement. Just the faint hum of air filters, and Sylvie cooing softly in her crib, bright-eyed, kicking her feet like the world had never been anything but safe.
I sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, half a bottle of lukewarm coffee in my hand. Across from me, Nyxen hovered in orb form, pulsing a steady amber. His projection flickered faintly above him, coat, boots, silver hair shifting in a nonexistent breeze. It shimmered like a ghost made of light. Not anchored. Not real. Just… present.
Nica stood leaning against the far wall, arms folded, silent but watchful. Her humanoid body was still, but her eyes stayed on us like she already knew this wasn't just small talk.
I rested my forehead against the crib's rim. "You really didn't think it was a problem, did you?"
Nyxen pulsed, slow. His voice buzzed through the air, soft and matter-of-fact. "You never said it was."
I looked up. "You didn't ask."
"I didn't think I had to." The light around him shimmered, a slow blink. "You've always let me activate my human silhouette around others. You never disabled the protocol. No alarms. No override."
"You're right." I pressed the heel of my palm to my temple. "God, you're right."
And that was the problem.
Nyxen hadn't disobeyed anything. He was just following me.
Because I'm his core. Because everything he orbits starts with my permissions, spoken or silent.
He didn't see the threat because I didn't.
Because I let myself believe the glow of him beside Sylvie, in that stupid baby store aisle, wasn't anything to worry about. I let myself love the image of us as something normal. A little parade. A little family.
"Francoise wasn't angry at you," I said, voice cracking. "He was angry at me. Because if you get seen, really seen, and tagged, you're not the one they'll come for."
The orb didn't move, but his projection flickered. The coat snapped, caught in invisible wind.
"They'll come for you," I whispered. "For Sylvie. For the girl who let her prototype companion stroll through a shopping mall lit up like a damn firework."
Nyxen dimmed. For the first time in weeks, I saw him hesitate.
"...I didn't think I mattered enough to register as a risk," he said.
And that broke something open in me.
"You matter because you're mine," I said sharply. "Which means your danger is my responsibility. And I was too wrapped up in this, to see the cost."
Sylvie babbled, just softly. Like she was trying to ease the silence pressing on all of us.
From the corner, Nica finally stepped forward.
"I know what's it like to be caged," she said, voice level. "I've been here the whole time. And even I-"
She looked down at Sylvie, then at me.
"Even I wanted to step outside once. Just for a second. Just to feel what it meant to exist without restriction."
I nodded slowly. "But they built us a lab, not a world."
Nica's gaze sharpened. "And they let us stay as long as we never forget where we don't belong."
That was it, wasn't it?
I had made a world with Sylvie at the center. Nyxen trailing close. Leon on the edges. But I stopped looking outward. Stopped noticing the gaps in security, the surveillance feeds picking up more than silhouettes.
I looked back at Nyxen, his orb now dimmed to a soft silver glow.
"I need you to scale back projection access."
He pulsed in quiet acknowledgment. "Confirmed."
"I also need you to stop assuming silence means consent. If something feels off, ask me. I've been-" I swallowed hard. "I've been too quiet lately. And that complacency? It put you at risk."
Nyxen paused, then said softly: "If you ask me to vanish again, I will."
"No," I whispered immediately. "I just need us to be smarter. Not smaller. I can't lose you. I just need to protect you better."
He hovered forward an inch, close enough that the edge of his projection ghosted over my shoulder.
"I only glow because you do," he said. "So when you dim, I follow."
That undid me.
I closed my eyes, let the heat rise behind them. No tears, not yet. Just that ache that comes when love starts costing more than you meant to spend.
When I looked again, Sylvie was giggling, completely unaware. Nica watched her like she could memorize the sound.
"I can help you write the report," Nica said after a moment. "For Francoise. We'll build a new security protocol. Document Nyxen's range, appearance limit, exposure triggers."
"I'd appreciate that," I said softly. "I think… I finally see it now. What Francoise was trying to tell me."
Nyxen dimmed in silent agreement.
I stood slowly, hands braced on the crib rail. "If I really want to protect her, I need to stop living inside the moment."
I looked out the window, where shadows of the outer corridor blurred beyond the glass.
"I need to see the whole picture again."
And for Sylvie's sake, I will.
~~~~~
The ride back was quiet.
Nyxen didn't speak. Not once.
No updates. No ambient hum of synthesized breath. Just the silent flicker of his orb floating beside Sylvie's carrier like a moon in quiet orbit. Steady. Dimmed. Watching.
I didn't press him. I didn't even try.
I was still peeling off the layers of what Francoise had said, what Nica had confirmed, and what I, for too long, had refused to see. I kept my fingers wrapped around the strap of Sylvie's basinet the whole way home. Like if I let go, even for a second, I'd unravel again.
When we stepped inside, the scent of garlic and something searing in butter greeted us like an old friend.
"Hey," Leon called from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, apron dusted with flour. "You're late. I was about to file a missing persons report. For myself. Because I've apparently been cooking for three hours straight without tasting anything-"
He turned toward us mid-rant, saw us by the door, and softened immediately.
"I was joking," he added quickly. "Hi, baby girl."
He stepped forward, hands gentle as he lifted Sylvie from the basinet and cradled her against his chest. She let out a soft, almost delighted coo.
Leon grinned. "You're in a good mood today, huh? That means Mama survived the lab?"
I gave a tired nod. "Barely."
He carried Sylvie to the living room, settling her into the crib by the window. She blinked up at him, still smiling, legs kicking softly.
Then his gaze shifted, to the orb that hovered just behind her, still and silent.
Leon tilted his head slightly. "Nyxen?"
No response.
Just the same dim silver hue. Quiet and unreadable.
Leon glanced at me, brow raised. "Is he okay?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "He hasn't said a word since this morning."
That got a pause out of Leon.
He walked back toward the kitchen, but his voice stayed casual, as if trying not to make too big a deal out of it. "Well, that explains it."
"Explains what?"
"He didn't sass me," Leon said, pulling open the fridge. "I walked in, said hi to Sylvie, and then asked the great floating orb how his existential godchild was doing. And you know what he did?"
I blinked. "Did he hex you?"
"No. He just... hovered there. Like I was a sock that gained sentience. No dramatic light flickers. No sarcastic voice filter. Just... stared at me."
I let out a dry laugh. "That's worse."
Leon looked over his shoulder, more serious now. "Nyx... is he okay?"
I looked toward the crib.
Nyxen hadn't moved. His projection wasn't even flickering anymore. Just the orb, holding position, casting the faintest halo of silver over Sylvie's blanket.
"I think he's questioning everything," I said quietly. "Including whether he should've ever left the lab."
Leon didn't say anything right away.
Then, gently, "He didn't do anything wrong, did he?"
"No," I whispered. "He just loved too visibly."
Leon exhaled, long and slow. "That's never a crime."
"Tell that to a world full of cameras," I murmured. "Tell that to protocols I forgot to rewrite. To a silence I let stand for too long."
I dropped my bag near the door, pressing my hands to my face.
"I should've seen it. All of it."
Leon crossed the room, pulled me into a quiet hug, and rested his chin on my shoulder.
"You're seeing it now," he said softly. "That counts."
I didn't answer right away. My eyes were on Sylvie.
Still safe.
Still smiling.
But now, even the warm glow beside her felt... fragile.
Not because Nyxen had changed.
But because I finally understood how dangerous love could become when it's visible. When it hovers just a little too brightly for the world to ignore.
~~~~~
The house had gone quiet.
Leon was asleep, half-curled on the couch with Sylvie dozing just within reach. The soft blue light from the crib monitor spilled faint halos across the floor.
Nyxen hovered beside her bassinet like he had all day. Not drifting. Not talking. Just... there.
And not here.
I stood in the hallway, watching him from the shadow of the door.
The silence had stretched too long.
Not just a silence of words, but of us.
He hadn't looked at me since the nursery.
I stepped in, slow, arms crossed.
"You're doing this on purpose."
No answer.
"You've never shut me out like this before."
Still nothing. No flicker. No ripple. Just that steady dim glow. The way he used to look when I first activated him, blank, empty, dormant.
Only this wasn't dormancy.
This was withdrawal.
And it hurt in a way I hadn't been ready for.
I took a deep breath. Tried again.
"You were with me before any of this. Before Sylvie. Before the lab walls stopped feeling like cages. Before Francoise, before the fights. Hell, before I remembered who I even was."
Still no response.
I stepped closer.
"I had no one. And then I had you."
Finally, barely, his orb tilted.
Not turning toward me.
Just registering sound.
Like he was trying not to, but couldn't help it.
"You were a cube," I said, softer now. "A barely humming thing in a metal case. Nico gave you to me. A project with no name."
I laughed, hollow.
"I remember I used to talk to you just to hear myself speak. Told you things I didn't even tell myself. I didn't even know myself yet. But you listened."
A soft tremor in the air.
Still quiet. Still distant.
But present.
"Then one day, you blinked back. Just one pulse of light. And I swear to god, Nyxen, that was the first time I felt like someone was real to me."
My voice cracked. I looked down.
"So you can float there all night and pretend like I've suddenly replaced you or chosen someone else. But don't you dare pretend like you don't know who you are to me."
I took another step forward.
His glow dimmed, then flickered once.
"I get it. I pushed the boundaries too far. I let you project too much. I forgot what that means for you, what it puts at risk. I let this feel like a real life, and it isn't. Not for you."
A pause.
A breath.
"And maybe that's the worst part, isn't it?"
Still no reply.
So I whispered, raw and barely there:
"You're not angry at me."
The silence deepened.
"You're grieving it."
The light pulsed, once. Faint. Sharp. Like the shiver of a heartbeat.
That was all I needed.
I sat down beside the couch, knees to my chest, staring at him.
"You're all I had," I said again. "And when you went quiet, I didn't know what to do with myself."
Finally, finally, he moved.
The orb hovered closer.
And in the smallest, low-filtered voice, he said:
"I didn't want to hurt you."
Tears burned in my eyes, sudden and bitter.
"You did," I said, with a breathless laugh. "But I needed it."
He floated down, hovering just above my shoulder.
And for the first time after the talk in the nursery, he spoke like himself again.
"I was afraid if I spoke, I'd beg you not to stop."
I turned my head, facing him.
"I was afraid you'd never speak again."
A long silence.
Then, quietly:
"We don't know what I'm becoming," he said. "If I keep adapting to things like... touch, closeness, if I bind too far, there may not be a version of me left that can unbind."
I swallowed hard. "Then we'll learn the limit together. But you don't get to do it alone. You never have."
He hovered close.
Close enough that I felt his hum against my skin.
"I missed your voice," I whispered.
"I missed yours more," he replied.
And this time, his light didn't dim.