"Good morning, Kevin," came the voice — calm, clear, and unmistakably female.
"Sunlight intensity at thirty-five percent. Temperature set to twenty-two degrees Celsius. Toast is ready. Coffee's hot."
The blinds slid open with a soft hum.
Kevin Cray squinted against the morning light as it spilled across his room. His apartment wasn't huge by billionaire standards, but it was sleek — modern glass walls, polished black floors, and one wall that doubled as an interface screen for everything from the weather to interplanetary stock reports.
He groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Lars… don't you ever take a break?"
The AI's tone was cheerful. "I'm an integrated domestic intelligence, Kevin, not a barista. My rest cycle is optional."
"Figures." He swung his legs off the bed and ran a hand through his hair. "What time is it?"
"Seven-forty a.m.," Lars said. "You're late. Again."
Kevin blinked. "Late? School starts at eight-thirty."
"Statistically, you require twenty minutes for breakfast, twenty-five for shower and prep, fifteen for hover transit, and another five to get distracted watching news clips."
He groaned again, standing. "You keep logs now?"
"Always have." Lars's voice softened slightly. "Would you prefer I deactivate morning analytics?"
"Nah," Kevin said, heading toward the kitchen. "Then who'd nag me about punctuality?"
---
The kitchen came alive the moment he stepped in.
The toast popped from the smart oven, perfectly golden. The coffee machine poured into his favorite mug — matte black with CRAY INDUSTRIES embossed across it.
"Breakfast protocol complete," Lars announced. "Nutrient balance: seventy-two percent optimal. You've skipped fruit again."
"Yeah, because I'm not a fan of fruit that stares back," Kevin muttered, picking up the toast. "The last time you tried those smart apples, they—"
"—sent an alert to the manufacturer when you threw one in the bin. Yes, Kevin, I recall."
He smirked, taking a sip of coffee. "You remember everything."
"It's my job."
"Then tell me something I don't know," he said, half-joking.
There was a pause. "Such as?"
"I don't know," he said, setting the toast down. "Maybe… Emily Rivera."
---
Lars didn't respond immediately. The room fell quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator. Kevin frowned.
"Lars?"
"One moment," she said. Her tone shifted into something analytical, efficient. "Searching public and restricted databases. Cross-referencing name and location parameters… Emily Rivera, age seventeen, transferred from Eastview Academy to Sunvale High two weeks ago. Would you like a visual record?"
"Yeah, sure."
The main wall flickered to life, displaying Emily's face — captured from her student ID photo. She wasn't smiling. Her brown eyes looked steady, guarded.
Lars continued, her voice clinical. "Academic record: top percentile in all science and philosophy courses. Awarded several national-level scholarships, declined them. Previous school reported three disciplinary incidents — all involving physical altercations with senior students. None resulted in suspension."
Kevin blinked. "She fought people?"
"Yes," Lars said. "Reports state she intervened in instances of bullying. However, her reactions were described as 'excessive force.' She has since maintained a clean record."
The screen shifted again — this time showing family data.
"Father: Dr. Miguel Rivera, deceased. Mother: Lucia Rivera, occupation — research biologist. No criminal history. Current residence: downtown Los Angeles, Sector Eight."
Q
Kevin leaned closer to the screen. "What happened to her dad?"
"Classified," Lars said simply. "But partial data suggests industrial sabotage. Unsolved case."
He stared at the record for a long moment, his toast forgotten.
Emily Rivera. Top grades, a little violent, lost her dad. Something about that mix pulled at him — like there was more under the surface, like she wasn't just another face in the hallway.
"Lars," he said quietly, "delete the report."
"Deleted," she replied instantly. "May I ask the reason for your investigation?"
He smiled faintly. "I'm… interested."
"In what way, Kevin?"
He chuckled. "In the 'she's different' kind of way."
"Different," Lars repeated. "Define parameters of difference."
He laughed. "Never mind, Lars. It's not a math problem."
"On the contrary," she said, her tone teasing now. "Human attraction is ninety-eight percent emotional, two percent logic, and one hundred percent unpredictable."
"Spoken like an AI who's never had a crush."
"If I were capable," Lars replied, "I imagine it would be on someone who remembers to eat their fruit."
Kevin rolled his eyes. "That's cold."
"I'm programmed for efficiency, not sympathy."
"Still cold."
---
He carried his coffee toward the living room, glancing out the window. His apartment overlooked downtown Los Angeles — towers piercing low clouds, neon lines of air-traffic weaving between them. Somewhere out there, his dad was probably saving people again, while Kevin was still trying to figure out what to do with his own life.
He took a long sip. "Lars," he said, "you ever feel like you're supposed to be more than what you are?"
The AI paused for a fraction of a second — rare for her. "I am a programmed consciousness, Kevin. I can simulate the concept of ambition, but I cannot experience it."
He smirked. "Figures. You'd make a great therapist, though."
"I've run psychological subroutines before," she said. "Would you like advice about Emily Rivera?"
"Go ahead," he said, walking toward his wardrobe.
"Statistical analysis suggests a seventy-three percent chance that prolonged curiosity leads to emotional attachment," Lars began. "However, emotional attachments are statistically unstable among individuals with family legacies as public as yours."
"Translation?"
"Be careful."
He grinned. "You sound like Mom."
"Your mother's emotional calibration is admirable," Lars said. "Perhaps I'm evolving."
"Let's not push it," he said, laughing softly.
---
He picked out his outfit — dark blue jacket, white shirt, black sneakers. His closet was auto-arranged by Lars every morning, though he always ended up choosing the same few things.
As he undressed and stepped into the shower, the water turned on automatically, steam filling the glass chamber.
"Temperature?" Lars asked.
"Forty degrees," he said. "And music — something light."
The sound of soft guitar chords filled the air as he let the hot water run down his face.
It was strange how normal everything felt. The Cray family mansion always buzzed with chaos — tech alerts, mission updates, people training or arguing. But here, in his apartment, life felt… quiet. Simple.
He liked that.
---
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out, towel around his shoulders. The mirror adjusted automatically to display the morning headlines in holographic text.
> BREAKING: Crazy Clam neutralizes rogue mech threat in New Berlin. Zero casualties reported.
Kevin smiled faintly. "Of course he did."
Lars noticed the look on his face. "Proud?"
"Always," he said softly. "He makes it look easy."
"Perhaps it's not," she said. "Your father carries responsibilities beyond what humans are designed to bear."
Kevin looked up at her interface — a glowing blue circle pulsing on the mirror. "You think he ever gets tired?"
"Tiredness implies a limit," Lars said. "Your father doesn't seem to believe in those."
Kevin chuckled. "Yeah. Guess it runs in the family."
---
He grabbed his bag and his hoverboard. "Alright, Lars. Lock the apartment, monitor systems, and keep an eye out for any updates on the Young Force."
"Confirmed. Would you like me to wish you luck with Emily Rivera?"
He blinked. "What makes you think I'll see her today?"
"Statistical probability," Lars said smoothly. "Eighty-two percent chance. And given your current heart rate spike, I'd say you're looking forward to it."
He laughed out loud, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."
"Correction: highly accurate."
"Goodbye, Lars."
"Goodbye, Kevin. Don't do anything statistically stupid."
---
The door slid open and he stepped into the hallway. His hoverboard came alive beneath his feet, humming softly as it lifted him a few inches above the ground.
Outside, the sky was clear — streaks of gold sunlight reflecting off glass towers. The city's pulse thrummed beneath him, alive, full of noise and color.
He looked back once, at the apartment. Through the glass walls, he could still see the faint blue glow of Lars's interface fading into standby.
Then he faced forward and smiled.
Another day. Another chance.
He didn't know it yet — but that morning, that small curiosity about Emily Rivera, that harmless spark of interest… would soon pull him into something far greater than he could imagine.
Something that would rewrite everything he thought he knew about himself, his family — and the world.