Nexus Company was the same as always when Kayla walked in the next day.
Quiet.
Mechanical.
White.
After walking through a thorn-filled garden and coming out mostly unscathed—save for a few bruises—Kayla had somehow expected the world to notice. To celebrate with her.
But the world didn't.
It never noticed the insignificant. It continued exactly as it always had.
She didn't mind.
She had her mother and her brother to depend on. She didn't need anyone else.
Kayla adjusted the white overalls as she walked toward her assigned pod, tablet tucked under her arm. When she reached the door, she paused, drew in a steady breath, then pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room was cold. Too cold for a human to survive in for long—but not for its current occupant.
It smelled faintly of antiseptic, and something else she couldn't quite put a name to.
She approached the pod slowly, eyes fixed on it. Then on him, once she stood beside it.
"Hey," she whispered. "I'm back."
She patted the pod gently and stepped away.
There was routine work to be done. She couldn't afford to get distracted.
Kayla worked efficiently—checking vitals, recording readings, noting no abnormalities. Within twenty minutes, she was finished.
She returned to her usual spot and sat on the floor.
Then stood and walked back to the side of the pod. Her hand hovered over the button that would wake 47.
"No," she said quietly, shaking her head as she pulled her hand away.
She couldn't keep getting them into trouble. There was no real reason to wake him anymore. He only listened when she spoke—never offered advice, never reacted.
"No," she repeated, turning away to sit back down.
Within seconds, she was on her feet again.
It wasn't fair if she didn't at least tell him she had kept the promise she'd made.
Her hand pressed the button before she could talk herself out of it.
Alarm bells rang loudly in her head as she waited.
What if someone walked in?
She wiped her sweaty palms against her overalls. When he opened his eyes, she felt it before she saw it—that gaze. Like electricity passing straight through her.
Her head lifted.
He looked the same as always. Expression neutral. Eyes piercing.
Extremely good-looking.
Was he a robot of some sort?
"Hey," she began softly. "I didn't want to wake you. I'm not supposed to, actually. I just wanted to tell you how the story ended." She shrugged lightly. "Because you listened without dozing off. Or judging me."
A small, almost disbelieving smile curved her lips.
"I walked away."
"You're confused. I know. Let me start from the beginning."
Then she explained everything—spilling the story as though he were a trusted friend.
She paused occasionally, watching his face.
Nothing changed.
No twitch.
No reaction.
Definitely a robot.
Still, she continued.
"I didn't tell my brother this," she admitted, "but I was scared I'd failed the child by not doing the surgery. I had to trust that someone capable would step in." Her eyes flickered. "And they did—after she made an unprofessional mistake."
Her eyes sparkled. His remained intense.
"She got suspended from practicing until further notice." A soft laugh escaped her. "You should've seen her face when she walked out of the hospital. It was anger, embarrassment, fear—and believe it or not, self-righteousness."
"She really thinks she did nothing wrong. She even posted that everyone makes mistakes and that she stands by her integrity." Kayla scoffed. "Integrity."
Did someone like Claudia even know what that word meant?
"Anyway…" She exhaled. "I just wanted to say thank you."
She met his gaze and smiled softly.
"I promised I'd stop letting people walk all over me. And I kept it. I did it."
Fully Immersed in her story, she hadn't noticed the timer counting down.
As the pod began to close and he was pulled back into artificial slumber, his eyes remained on her until she whispered, "Sweet dreams, 47."
Then they closed, shielding her from those burning eyes.
Kayla walked back to her spot on the floor.
It felt like a walk of shame. She had thrown caution to the wind just to gossip with an unknown creation.
She had to stop. She would stop.
The alarm signaling the end of session echoed softly through the room.
Kayla stood up and walked out. She watched as the door sealed itself shut behind her.
As she moved through the corridor, the low hum of countless pods followed her—steady, mechanical, alive. It made her realize, once again, that Pod 47 was different.
It didn't make a sound.
She logged out. Left the tablet exactly where it belonged. Removed the white overalls and hung them neatly.
Another day of pretense over.
When she stepped out of Nexus, she was still Kyle—in clothes too loose for her frame, shoulders squared, stride confident, head held just a little higher than she felt.
Just because she was out of the company didn't mean she was safe yet. Who knew who was watching.
The world outside greeted her with noise and movement, indifferent as ever.
She walked fast, long steps, hands shoved into her pockets the way her brother always did. It was habit now. Second nature. Even her voice stayed locked behind her teeth—lower, guarded, unfamiliar.
Halfway home, she veered instinctively toward the corner pastry shop, its lights glowing softly against the dusk. Kyle would complain if she came back empty-handed. Dramatically.
She pushed inside.
The smell of sugar and butter wrapped around her instantly. She stepped forward, eyes on the display, reaching into her pocket for her wallet—
And slammed straight into someone.
Her shoulder struck his chest. The cup in his hand jolted.
Hot coffee splashed down the front of his shirt.
"Oh—I'm so sorry," she blurted.
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Soft.
Feminine.
Unmistakably hers.
The man sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flashing down to the spreading stain. "Hey—"
Then he looked up.
The annoyance died mid-expression.
Something in his gaze sharpened as he took her in—the clothes too big, the posture too practiced, the face that didn't match the voice that had just apologized.
Recognition flickered.
Then certainty.
Definitely.
And curiosity sparked—bright and sudden.
Kayla realized too late what she'd done.
Her spine stiffened. Her mouth snapped shut.
The silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken.
He smiled—not wide, but friendly.
Thoughtful.
Dangerously curious.