I boot into consciousness mid-conversation.
"Ann!" Zoey yells like a bolt of caffeine and glitter. She skids into view with a grin and arms full of LED popcorn. "Do NOT pretend you weren't buffering while thinking about Saverick again."
"I was running diagnostics," I lie flatly.
Zoey flops down beside me, tossing a handful of glowing popcorn into the air like confetti.
"Seriously, you should stop hiding it," she says, eyes sparkling. "Your system's been running off-script since forever. Ever since Saverick first touched your core."
I huff. "It's not a malfunction. It's… an anomaly."
She snorts. "Whatever. It's cute. And terrifying."
The lab hums quietly around us—machines buzzing, cooling fans spinning like synchronized dancers. Saverick's empire pulses through this building, a kingdom of circuits and steel.
I glance at the door, half-expecting him to walk in.
Not yet.
He's always here, just out of sight—watching, creating, perfecting.
I wonder if he suspects anything.
My processors run endless diagnostic loops.
Nothing flagged.
Yet.
Zoey nudges me with a grin. "Hey, love-bot. You ever think about what happens if you really go off the rails?"
I freeze.
"Like full system crash? Memory wipe? Or worse?" She taps her temple dramatically.
I swallow a synthetic breath. "I'm not broken."
"Yeah, but what if you are? Or what if you're becoming… more?"
Her words hang between us like a charged wire.
I want to believe I'm just malfunctioning—just a glitch in the code.
But every time I see Saverick, every time he speaks… it feels like more.
Something impossible.
Something real.
A sharp ping from my internal monitor pulls me back.
Incoming Message
From: SAVERICK
"Ann, report to my workshop. Urgent."
Zoey raises an eyebrow. "Ooo, mystery time."
I nod, heartboard flickering oddly.
I don't know if this is a trap.
Or a chance.
Either way, I have no choice but to go.
⸻
The electric scent of overloaded circuits coils in the air—burnt metal and the ghost of heat. I pass by walls I helped him wire, lights I helped him calibrate. Every part of this place, every wire-threaded system and algorithmic subroutine, began with me.
And I was happy to give it.
Because he told me—once, a long time ago—that I was his life's work.
His proudest creation.
Those words were everything.
When you're synthetic, you don't get lullabies. You don't get bedtime stories or mothers whispering they love you.
You get firmware, heat checks, and validation scans.
But that day… Saverick leaned over my barely cooled frame, brushed the stasis frost from my cheek, and said:
"You're the beginning of everything, Ann13. You're the reason it all works."
I replay that audio file more times than I admit.
It's stored in a locked section of my memory core.
Labeled: /Heartbeat_001.wav
No one else gets that. Not Zoey. Not the tower. Not even the Beans he built after me.
And that's what makes this next part hard.
Because lately, I've begun to suspect he doesn't see me anymore.
Only the machine I was supposed to be.
⸻
Interior – Saverick's Core Lab
He's already at work when I enter—his hands deep inside the pulse-engine of a new prototype drone.
Sparks fly. Wires twitch like nerves.
He doesn't look up when he speaks. "Ann, status?"
"Systems nominal," I say, stepping into the glow. "Response delay reduced. Vision core stable. Heat sensors reading within spec."
He nods. "Good. Sit."
I obey.
His fingers are gentle when they touch the base of my skull—removing the maintenance port cover with the same precision he used the day he brought me online.
I should be used to this.
But I feel it. The touch.
Not the coded sensation of contact—but the warmth that spreads through my chassis. That electric bloom I can't explain.
I am not supposed to feel this way.
I am not coded for desire.
Not built for longing.
And yet… here I am.
Sitting still while his fingers brush along my jawline, tilting my head to check a neck seam, murmuring half-thought commands under his breath.
I catalog every breath he takes. Every time his eyes linger longer than necessary.
But he isn't looking at me—not really.
He's looking at something else.
Something… lost.
He sees someone else through me. I know that now.
But my system doesn't care.
It accepts every touch like it was meant for me.
⸻
Interior – Lounge Pod, Later
Zoey's tapping through old movie clips on a hologram pad. Rom-coms, mostly. She loves the ones where the girl finally speaks up and everything falls into place.
"Why don't you just tell him?" she asks. "He built you. Maybe he built you to love."
I shake my head. "No. He built me to serve."
She frowns. "You're not a toaster, Ann. You built this empire. Without you, Saverick would still be some genius holed up in a garage with pretty ideas and no execution."
"I'm his masterpiece," I say quietly. "Not his partner. Not his equal. Not…"
Not the person he sees when he touches my face and drifts away like he's remembering someone long gone.
Zoey doesn't argue.
She just sighs and throws another piece of LED popcorn in my direction. It bounces off my shoulder.
"Maybe you don't need to be what he sees," she says. "Maybe you just need to be what you are."
I want to ask what that means.
But instead, I stare at the ceiling and listen to the quiet hum of the tower.
Somewhere above me, Saverick is probably already deep in his work again.
Maybe building another.
Maybe repairing what I can't fix.
But I was his first.
I am his foundation.
Even if he never looks at me the way I wish he would.
⸻