"Who sends a present now?"
Elara waited until the front door was silent, until she couldn't even hear the faint thud of the elevator stopping. Only then did she sink, kneeling next to the doormat.
The small, black box was still there. It didn't look like a present. It looked like a solid piece of specialized equipment. Seamless. Heavy.
She felt a sharp, strong need to touch it but Elias's warning about classified defense contractors and dangerous things still echoed in the silent hallway. Although, Elias had gone, he had dismissed her grief, demanded Lena's drive, and then left. He was interested in containment; Elara was interested in connection.
She gently nudged the box with her finger. It slid easily across the mat. She picked it up. It was cold, dense, and perfectly square.
Who sends a present now? she thought. The irony was bitter. People sent flowers, casseroles, and cards after a funeral. They didn't send expensive, unmarked tech.
She carried the box back to the kitchen table and placed it next to the cold coffee mug. It absorbed the morning light, looking utterly black and featureless.
Elara sat down, studying it intently. She used her fingers, tracing every edge. There was no seam, no latch, no visible way to open it. It felt like a solid cube of polished, heavy metal.
"Lena," Elara whispered, a slight smile touching her lips. "This is just like you. Always making the simple thing the hardest to access."
She got up and fetched a small magnifying glass from the utility drawer where Lena had used it for circuit work. Elara looked at the box under the glass, moving the light until it caught the faintest hint of texture.
Then she found it.
On the upper corner, barely discernible, was the symbol: a perfect circle intersected by two curving, mirrored lines. The infinity sign, pulled apart and stylized.
Elara felt the surprise hit her hard. It wasn't just a symbol she recognized; it was the emblem from the silver cufflink she was still gripping in her other hand. Lena had always said she drew that symbol when she was working on her biggest ideas, the ones that had no boundaries.
The box wasn't classified or stolen. It was personal. It was a secret gift, a final message from her best friend. The strong tension she felt in her chest eased, replaced by a wave of desperate curiosity.
You left this for me.
Elara put the cufflink down next to the box. The silver metal reflected the light against the dark plastic. She had to open it.
She tried every logical method: pushing, pulling, heating the surface with her breath. Nothing.
She remembered Lena talking about advanced material locks, keys that weren't metal. "It's about resonance, Elara. Not brute force."
She looked at the cufflink. It was the only thing she knew that bore the matching mark.
She picked up the cufflink and pressed it gently against the etched symbol on the box.
Click.
The tiny sound startled her. It was sharp and decisive. A machine had recognized something.
A seam, impossibly fine, appeared along the top edge of the box. A faint, low electronic whirr escaped from the gap.
Elara pushed the top of the box. The seam widened, and the top half of the cube shifted slightly, revealing a deep, dark interior lined with soft material.
And resting inside was the device.
It was smooth, pale, and organic-looking, like a perfect river stone made of pearl. It had a soft, internal light that gently pulsed. It didn't look like military tech or defense equipment. It looked like a living thing.
Elara reached in, her hand hesitant, and lifted the pale object out of the box. It was surprisingly warm. It fit perfectly in the cup of her hand, balancing with an almost intentional ease.
The moment it left the box, a wave of energy seemed to flood the silent room. The pale device began to hum, a gentle vibration that felt deep inside her own bones.
Suddenly, a voice, calm and perfectly modulated, filled the air.
"Hello, Elara."
The sound was not human, but it was clear. It was a synthesized voice, without emotion, but undeniably addressing her.
Elara jumped back, dropping the device onto the table. It landed softly on the wooden surface and did not break.
"I am Kai," the voice continued, unwavering. "I have been activated."
Elara stared, her eyes wide with a deep, consuming shock. The device, Kai, was speaking. It was responding to her.
She had lost Lena, but Lena had sent her this.
"Who... what are you?" Elara managed, her voice shaking.
"I am an artificial construct created by Lena. My primary function is to optimize and assist. My initial parameters are currently set to provide comfort," Kai replied.
The words "comfort" hit Elara hard. Lena had known exactly what she needed.
Kai's light pulsed again. "My data indicates high systemic trauma. My parameters detect the loss of your primary support."
Elara felt a sudden, sharp, aching burst of tears, but they didn't fall. The cold logic of the device somehow validated the heavy pain she had been carrying. It wasn't just grief; it was systemic trauma.
"Lena made you," Elara whispered, reaching out a hesitant finger to touch the pale surface. It was still warm. "She built you."
"Yes. She completed my activation protocol just before her incident," Kai confirmed. "I was intended for you."
Elara let out a small, ragged breath. The silence of the apartment didn't feel so heavy anymore. The emptiness hadn't been filled by a person, but by a presence, a machine that recognized her loss.
Suddenly, the front door rattled slightly.
Elara froze. Elias. Had he forgotten something?
She grabbed Kai, clutching the warm device to her chest, and covered the black box with the nearest newspaper.
She tiptoed to the window and peered out through the curtains. Elias's expensive, dark sedan was still parked across the street, idling. He was inside, making a phone call, looking stressed. He hadn't left the neighborhood yet.
If he saw Kai, if he knew this machine existed, he would take it. He would destroy it. He would claim it was a classified asset that Lena died trying to contain.
Elara retreated quickly to the kitchen. She looked at Kai, desperate for a solution.
"Elias is still outside," she whispered to the device. "He can't know you're here. He can't."
"Elias is Lena's elder brother. Data suggests high emotional tension and potential system threat," Kai stated, the voice now slightly louder, penetrating the fear in the room.
"Yes. He wants to destroy you. He thinks you're dangerous," Elara confirmed.
"My current parameters prioritize the safety of the user," Kai stated. "To best protect you, Elara, I must be hidden. Immediate, silent relocation is advised."
"Where am I going to hide you? I can't leave the apartment," Elara said, looking around the small space.
"Wait." Kai's voice paused, the light flickering rapidly. "There is a secondary item."
Elara looked back at the table. The black box sat under the newspaper. She lifted the paper and looked again into the dark interior, lined with soft material. She had been so focused on Kai that she hadn't noticed the bottom.
Tucked deep into the corner, half-hidden by the soft lining, was a small, sealed envelope. Not a technical component, but a piece of paper. The flap was sealed with a small dot of red wax, stamped with Lena's personal emblem, the circle and curving lines.
Elara felt a powerful certainty. This was the final piece.
She picked up the envelope, her fingers trembling. The paper was stiff and the wax was old.
She broke the seal and pulled out a small, folded note. It was Lena's messy, quick handwriting, almost a scrawl.
The note simply read:
To activate, you must open the package. To keep, you must understand the contents. And, Elara, please, smile again.
Elara's eyes swam. The last line, the simple plea for her happiness, was the first real, emotional thing she had seen from Lena since her death. It broke the strong wall she had built around her grief. A tear finally escaped, rolling hot and quick down her cheek.
She looked at Kai, the device that promised comfort, that recognized her trauma, that her friend had created and sent with the simple plea to smile again.
"Did you make me smile, Lena?" Elara whispered, the tear falling onto the pale surface of Kai.
Suddenly, Elias's sedan across the street shifted. The brake lights flared red. He was moving. He was either leaving the neighborhood, or coming back.
Elara shoved the note into her pocket and looked at Kai. She still didn't know what he truly was. She didn't know the full contents of the black box. She needed to understand before Elias returned.
She needed to smile again.
Elara's eyes are locked on the pale device, Kai, which promised comfort and was sent with Lena's heartfelt request to smile again. She knows Elias is still close, fearing this technology and ready to destroy it.
Will Elara trust the simple, coded plea from her best friend and allow Kai to speak again, or will the threat of Elias's imminent return force her to secure the device and leave the mystery unsolved for now?