There was silence in Gideon's hidden lab.
It was the silence of a truth that had finally been spoken aloud, leaving no room for jokes or evasions.
Leo sat in the diagnostic chair, his usual sarcastic energy gone, leaving a quiet, hollowed-out version of himself.
He stared at the holographic image of his own broken system, a glitching, corrupted mess.
A digital poison.
"Well," he finally said, his voice a quiet, shaky thing he didn't recognize as his own.
"That's not ideal."
He tried for a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"So, what you're saying is, my soul has a virus."
"Does that mean I need to install an antivirus?"
Miles just watched him, his own internal monologue for once completely silent. He had no sarcastic comment. No dry observation.
He was looking at Leo, and for the first time, he wasn't seeing a tech-savvy sidekick or a walking joke machine.
He was seeing a mirror.
Another broken boy whose life had been ruined by the same man.
