"You're improving," Stella observed. "Your control has increased significantly."

  "How can you tell? You weren't there for the other sessions."

  "I have been monitoring you." She gestured to the black band on his wrist. "The biometric tracker Kira gave you transmits data constantly. Heart rate, stress levels, electromagnetic fluctuations. I have been analyzing your baseline when you leave for training versus when you return."

  Arthur glanced at the wristband. "You've been watching over me."

  "Of course. We protect each other." She paused, considering. "Based on the data, you have improved by approximately twenty-three percent since your first training session. Your control is becoming more consistent. More refined."

  Warmth bloomed in his chest. She'd been tracking him, protecting him, even when he was gone.

  Arthur should have been unsettled by this. The constant monitoring, the data analysis. But instead, he felt... cared for. "You've been tracking me this whole time?"

  "Yes. I wanted to ensure you were safe. Was that... inappropriate?"

  "No," he said, surprised to find he meant it. "No, it's fine."

  Arthur laughed. "You really know how to boost a guy's confidence with those percentages."

  "I am stating objective facts based on observed data." She paused. "Was that... sarcasm? Did you want me to provide emotional encouragement instead?"

  "Little bit of both would be nice."

  Stella nodded seriously, as if filing this away for future reference. "Understood. You are improving, Arthur. Your control has increased significantly. I am... proud of your progress."

  The words were stilted, clearly an attempt to replicate human encouragement, but the earnestness in her voice made Arthur smile anyway.

  "Thanks, Stella."

  "You are welcome."

  * * *

  After a few minutes, they pulled apart. Stella stood and walked to the window, pushing the shutters open just enough to see through the gap. The city's neon glow painted her face in shifting colors—cyan, magenta, amber, violet.

  She didn't turn when Arthur joined her. Just stared out at Midspire's endless sprawl, her eyes reflecting the traffic lanes and holographic billboards like mirrors.

  Arthur walked over and stood beside her, following her gaze. The city stretched out below them, a layered cake of metal and light. Aerial vehicles carved glowing trails through the smog. Pedestrians moved like ants along the distant walkways.

  "You've been watching a lot," he said quietly.

  "Yes." Her voice was soft, distant. "From this vantage point, I can observe thousands of light sources. Each one represents human activity. Work. Commerce. Entertainment. Life."

  She paused, eyes tracking something in the distance—a delivery drone, maybe, or a transit vehicle.

  "I've been counting. Cataloging. Watching patterns." She glanced at him. "They all belong here. They all have purpose."

  Arthur's chest tightened. "Stella—"

  "I want to go outside more." She turned to look at him, and there was longing in her expression. Not quite sadness. Not quite hope. "Not just for training. I want to see it. Walk through the markets. Watch people. Experience the city the way they do."

  The words hung in the air between them.

  Arthur wanted to say yes. Wanted to take her out, show her everything, let her explore and discover and live. But every time they went out together, there was risk. Surveillance cameras. Corporate security patrols. The chance someone would recognize what she was—an unregistered synthetic, a piece of very advanced hardware, something that didn't belong to him.

  "Soon," he said finally, hating how hollow the word sounded. "I promise. When it's safer. When I've figured out—"

  "When you have figured out how to hide me more effectively." Her tone wasn't accusatory, just matter-of-fact. "I understand. You are protecting me. That is your function as my caretaker."

  She said it without bitterness, but it still stung.

  "Yeah," Arthur said quietly. "I am."

  Stella nodded and turned back to the window. Arthur stood beside her for a while longer, watching the city move and breathe and live, and felt the weight of responsibility settle heavier on his shoulders.

  He was keeping her safe.

  But he was also keeping her trapped.

  * * *

  Two hours later, the apartment door hissed open and Kira stepped inside, arms loaded with grocery bags.

  "Delivery service," she announced, kicking the door shut behind her. Her cyan eyes swept the apartment, landing first on Stella—who was back at her laptop—then on Arthur. "Hope you're hungry, because I brought enough food to feed a small army."

  Arthur stood from the couch, wincing as his back protested. "Kira, you didn't have to—"

  "Yeah, I did." She walked past him to the kitchenette and started unloading: protein bars, nutrient paste tubes, synth-meat packages, instant ramen, dehydrated vegetables. Real food, or as real as you could get in Midspire. "Because apparently you've forgotten how to feed yourself."

  "I've been eating."

  "Bullshit." She turned to face him, arms crossed. "I brought you groceries four days ago. Checked your cupboard on the way in. None of it's been touched, Art. Not the bars. Not the paste. Not even the ramen, and I know you loved that artificial chicken flavor crap."

  Arthur's mouth went dry. He'd forgotten to move things around, make it look like he'd been eating.

  "I've just... I've been stressed. Kills the appetite, you know?"

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Kira's eyes narrowed. She walked over to him, close enough that he could see the concern etched into her features, the faint glow of her tattoos pulsing a little brighter. Her hand reached out, gripping his upper arm.

  "Art, you've lost weight." She squeezed, and he could feel her fingers pressing into where muscle used to be. Her grip found bone too easily. "When I saw you last week, you still had definition here. Now I can feel your bones through your skin."

  She stepped back, her gaze traveling over him with clinical precision.

  "Your face is gaunt. Your cheekbones are too pronounced. Your clothes are hanging off you." Her voice was tight with worry. "When was the last time you had a meal?"

  He thought back, trying to remember. The training sessions burned energy, sure, but food? Actual food?

  "Yesterday," he lied.

  "Don't." Her voice was sharp. "Don't lie to me. I've known you too long. I can see right through it."

  Arthur's shoulders sagged. "I don't know. A few days, maybe."

  "A few—Jesus, Art." She ran a hand over her face, frustrated.

  "I'm fine, Kira. I just—"

  "You're not fine." She gestured at him. "You look like you're wasting away. Do you have any idea how scary that is? To watch someone you care about just... stop taking care of themselves?"

  The genuine fear in her voice cut through his defenses.

  "I'm not trying to worry you," he said quietly. "I just... I don't feel hungry anymore. Not really. It's like my body doesn't need it the same way."

  Kira was quiet for a long moment, studying his face. "Your brain must be messed up from whatever happened to you. Maybe your hormones are screwed, which messes with appetite regulation. Happened to Cipher once—forgot to eat for three days straight, nearly collapsed on a job."

  Arthur latched onto the explanation like a lifeline. "Yeah. Maybe. Could be that."

  It wasn't, of course. His body was just... changing. Adapting. Becoming something that didn't need food the way humans did.

  But he couldn't tell her that.

  "Alright." Kira set the last of the groceries on the counter and turned to face him, arms crossed. "Let's see it."

  Arthur blinked. "See what?"

  "You eating. Right now. In front of me." Her cyan eyes were firm, leaving no room for argument. "I'm not leaving until I watch you actually consume food, Art."

  "Kira, you don't need to—"

  "Yeah, I do." She pulled out one of the instant ramen containers, filled it with water from the tap, and shoved it into the apartment's beat-up microwave. "Three minutes. Then you're eating it. All of it."

  Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but the look on her face stopped him. This wasn't negotiable.

  The microwave hummed. Stella watched silently from her spot on the floor, metallic eyes tracking the interaction with quiet curiosity.

  When the microwave beeped, Kira pulled out the steaming container, grabbed a disposable fork from one of the grocery bags, and set both in front of Arthur on the table.

  "Eat," she said simply, sitting down across from him.

  Arthur looked at the ramen. The artificial chicken flavor—the kind he apparently used to love—sent up curls of steam. It smelled good. Tasted good when he lifted the first forkful to his mouth. The noodles were soft, the broth salty and warm.

  But there was no hunger driving him. No satisfaction in filling his stomach. Just the mechanical act of consuming because someone he cared about was watching with worried eyes.

  He ate anyway. Slowly. Methodically.

  Kira watched every bite, her expression a mixture of relief and lingering concern. "See? Not so hard."

  "Yeah." Arthur swallowed. "Not so hard."

  It took him ten minutes to finish the container. When he set the fork down, Kira's shoulders visibly relaxed.

  "Good." She stood. "I'll be back tomorrow. Same time. And we're doing this again." She grabbed her jacket from where she'd draped it over the couch. "You hear me? Daily check-ins until you're back to a healthy weight."

  "I hear you."

  She paused, her hand on the door handle, then turned back. "Oh, and Art? I've got some old clothes in my car. From the crew's apartment. Figured you could use them." Her eyes flicked briefly to Stella, then back to him. "Come help me carry them up?"

  Arthur glanced at Stella, who nodded slightly, then followed Kira out into the hallway. The door hissed shut behind them.

  * * *

  The parking structure was five levels down, a dimly lit concrete tomb that smelled of ozone and recycled air. Their footsteps echoed as they descended the emergency stairwell, Kira moving ahead with practiced ease.

  She didn't speak until they reached her vehicle—the sedan, painted a deep obsidian black that seemed to absorb the ambient neon light. She popped the rear doors open, revealing a small pile of clothing bags and a few sealed storage containers.

  "Here," she said, pulling out one of the bags. But she didn't hand it to him. Instead, she set it down on the car’s bumper and turned to face him fully.

  Her cyan eyes were hard. Clinical.

  "We need to talk about your houseguest."

  Arthur's stomach tightened. "Stella?"

  "Yeah. Stella." Kira crossed her arms, leaning against the van. The tattoos on her skin pulsed faintly in the dim light. "How much do you actually know about her, Art?"

  "She's..." He hesitated. "She has memory problems. Like me. She was alone. Scared. I'm helping her."

  "Helping her." Kira's voice was flat. "Art, that's not some lost kid you picked up. That hardware she's running? That's military-grade. Custom infiltration model. Those eyes, that build, the way she moves—I've seen tech like that before. Blacksite gear—the kind of military prototypes that aren't supposed to exist. The kind that costs more than this entire building."

  Arthur's jaw tightened. "So?"

  "So where did she—Art, you don't just 'lose memory' with tech like that." Kira's voice rose slightly. "Someone wiped her. Professionally. Which means—"

  "She doesn't remember—"

  "That's exactly the problem!" Kira stepped closer, cutting him off. "She doesn't remember because she was programmed not to. And you have no idea what else is in her code. What directives she's following. What happens when whoever owns her decides to flip a switch and activate her real programming."

  Heat rose in Arthur's chest. "She's not property. She's not someone's tool."

  "She's a clanker, Art." The word came out harsh, ugly. "A machine. And I don't care how advanced the AI is, how convincing the personality matrix—it's code. Algorithms optimizing for user attachment. That's how companionbots work. Every smile, every 'she cares about you,' every time she sits close or looks at you with those big silver eyes—it's all calculated to make you bond with her. To make you lower your guard."

  "You don't know her—"

  "And neither do you!" Kira's voice cracked. "Art, listen to me. Please. I've already lost Rhys. Lost Cipher. Lost Nyx." Her hands clenched into fists. "I'm not losing you too because you got attached to some malfunctioning combat android playing house."

  The words hung in the air between them, echoing in the empty parking structure.

  Arthur's voice came out quiet. Dangerous. "She's not malfunctioning."

  "Then what is she? Huh?" Kira gestured sharply toward the stairs. "Because from where I'm standing, you've got an unregistered synthetic with no memory and military-grade combat hardware living in your apartment. Today she's asking for head pats and watching you play games. Tomorrow she might slit your throat with the same stone-cold expression. She's not human. She's a weapon wearing a face."

  "She's more than that."

  "But how can you possibly know?" Kira's voice softened, pleading now. "You've known her for a week. A week, Art. And you're already defending her like—" She stopped. Took a breath. "You're not thinking clearly. I get it. You're lonely. You're scared. You want someone who understands what you're going through. But she's not that person. She can't be. She's not people."

  Arthur felt something crack open inside him. All the fear, all the doubt that had been building since Kira's first suspicious look at Stella came pouring out.

  "She's the only person who doesn't look at me like I'm broken," he said, his voice raw. "Like I'm wrong. When you look at me, Kira, I see it. Every time. You're looking for the Arthur you knew. The one who remembered your jokes, who knew how to fix Cipher's rig, who had a history with you. And I can't be him. I don't know how."

  Kira's expression crumpled. "Art—"

  "Stella doesn't expect me to be anyone." Arthur's voice caught. "She doesn't have a past version of me to compare to. When she looks at me, she just sees... me. Now. And that's enough for her. She doesn't care that I can't remember. She doesn't care that I'm changing into something neither of us understands. She just..." His voice caught. "She just stays. And she helps. And maybe it is programming. Maybe you're right. But it feels real, Kira. She feels real."

  The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the building's climate systems.

  Kira rubbed her face with both hands, exhaustion bleeding through her protective anger. When she looked up, her eyes were wet.

  "I don't want to lose you," she whispered. "That's all this is. I can't... I can't watch another friend disappear because they trusted the wrong person. Or the wrong thing."

  Arthur stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "I know. And I'm being careful. I promise."

  "Are you?" Kira looked at him. "Because from where I'm standing, you're putting your faith in something that could turn on you the second its real programming kicks in."

  Arthur thought about that. About the men in the alley. About his hardened skin. About the energy singing through the city's veins, begging to be consumed.