"If she turns on me," he said quietly, "I'd rather it be her than live in fear of everyone."

  Kira stared at him for a long moment, then let out a shaky breath. "That's not reassuring, Art."

  "I know."

  She reached into the car and pulled out two more bags, shoving them into his arms with more force than necessary. "Take these. And for the record, I still think you should get rid of her. Send her to a recycler. Wipe her core. Whatever. Before she gets you killed."

  "I'm not doing that."

  "I know." Kira's smile was sad. "Because you see the person you want her to be, not the thing she might actually be. It's what you do, Art."

  "Maybe." Arthur shifted the bags. "But not today."

  They stood there for a moment, the clothing bags heavy in Arthur's arms, the weight of unsaid things pressing down on both of them.

  "I'll see you tomorrow," Kira said finally. "And I meant what I said. Daily check-ins. You're eating in front of me until you put some weight back on."

  "I know."

  "And Art?" She looked at him, really looked at him. "If she does anything—anything—that makes you uncomfortable, you call me. Immediately. Doesn't matter what time. I'll be there."

  "Thanks, Kira."

  She nodded, climbed into her van, and started the engine. Arthur watched her drive away, the red taillights disappearing into the darkness of the parking structure.

  He turned and headed back upstairs, the bags of old clothes dragging at his arms, Kira's words echoing in his head.

  But was she? Was she really?

  * * *

  Arthur paused before the bathroom mirror.

  Kira was right about one thing: he looked like hell.

  His cheekbones jutted sharply beneath pale skin. His eyes—those strange, silver eyes that marked him as something other—were sunken, ringed with dark circles. His collarbones stood out like ridges beneath his shirt.

  He lifted his shirt. Counted his ribs. They were all visible now, pressing against skin that stretched too thin over bone.

  He dropped the shirt and left the bathroom.

  The city still sang to him through the walls, a thousand points of light and energy begging to be consumed. He could feel the power lines in the building's bones, the batteries in people's phones, the charge in every piece of tech within a hundred meters.

  He was changing. Had been changing since the cocoon, since his body had rewritten itself in threads of living light.

  He looked down at his hands. Ordinary hands. Human hands.

  But they'd killed five men. They'd torn through flesh and bone with impossible strength. And somewhere inside him, coiled like a sleeping serpent, was the power to do it again.

  * * *

  The apartment settled into quiet as evening bled into night. Arthur sat on the couch, staring at nothing in particular, Kira's words circling in his mind like vultures.

  Across the room, Stella was back at the laptop, her fingers moving across the trackpad with precise, economical motions. The glow from the screen painted her face in shifting colors—blue, white, the occasional flash of red.

  Arthur should probably sleep. Or train more. Or figure out what he was going to say to Kira tomorrow when she came back and demanded he eat another meal he didn't need.

  Instead, he just sat there, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical tiredness.

  "Arthur?"

  He looked up. Stella had turned to face him, the laptop still open on her knees.

  "Yeah?"

  "Would you..." She hesitated. "Would you like to watch something with me? A movie?"

  Arthur blinked. "A movie?"

  "Yes. I've been browsing a media archive. There are thousands of films cataloged. I thought..." Another pause. "It might be pleasant. To watch one together."

  Tentative hope colored her tone, almost shy, and it made his chest tighten.

  "Sure," he said. "What did you have in mind?"

  Stella turned back to the laptop, her fingers moving across the trackpad. The screen flickered as she navigated through menus. "I don't know yet. Give me a moment."

  Arthur stood and walked over, settling onto the floor beside her. Close enough that their shoulders almost touched. The table in front of them was cluttered with his old comic books and the empty ramen container from earlier. He pushed them aside to make room.

  Stella's gaze lingered on the comics for a moment. "Arthur. The glowing light you showed Kira—have you practiced it further?"

  He wiggled his fingers at her. Nothing happened. "I've tried. Turns out absorbing energy is the only thing that comes naturally. Everything else?" He let his hand drop. "I can make my fingertip glow. That's it. Not exactly superhero material."

  "The heroes in your comics required time to develop their abilities."

  "Yeah, well." He gestured at the scattered issues. "Right now I'm just trying not to drain everyone's phone when I walk down the street. Power development comes after survival."

  Stella considered this, then returned her attention to the screen.

  She scrolled through pages of titles, thumbnails flashing past—action films, dramas, documentaries, animated features from decades past. Her eyes flickered as she analyzed each one, that data-scroll tell he'd learned to recognize.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  She stopped.

  Her hand hovered over the trackpad, perfectly still.

  "This one," she said softly.

  Arthur leaned in to look. The thumbnail showed a hand-drawn animation style, brightly colored and simplistic. The title read:

  "A kid's movie?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

  "The user reviews indicate high emotional engagement. Multiple mentions of 'heartwarming' and 'inspirational.'" She glanced at him. "Is this acceptable?"

  Arthur shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

  Stella connected the laptop to the apartment's small holoprojector. The image flickered to life on the far wall—a young hero with wide eyes and a determined expression, standing at the edge of a village overlooking a dark forest.

  Within five minutes, the plot hit with all the subtlety of a falling anvil: Demon King threatens the world. Hero must leave home. Hero is scared but determined. Villagers believe in him.

  Arthur found it kind of boring, if he was being honest. The animation was clunky by modern standards, the voice acting earnest but stiff, the whole thing clumsily paced. But he kept watching anyway, because Stella had chosen it. Because something about this simple children's movie had made her stop scrolling and say this one.

  He glanced at her.

  And stopped breathing.

  Stella was completely absorbed. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the screen's glow, tracking every movement of the characters with intense focus. Her lips were slightly parted. And there—right there at the corner of her mouth—was a small smile.

  Not the careful, practiced smile she used when she was trying to mimic human expression.

  A real smile. Unconscious. Genuine.

  Arthur forgot about the movie entirely. He just watched her.

  The hero on screen met his first companion—a scrappy girl with a staff who didn't believe in destiny but joined him anyway. Stella's smile widened just a fraction.

  The two of them got into an argument about the best path forward. Stella's brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across her features.

  They made up, laughing together as they set up camp for the night. Her expression softened, warmth entering her eyes.

  A monster attacked. The hero froze in fear. Stella leaned forward unconsciously, tension visible in her shoulders.

  The girl protected him with her staff, and he found his courage. Together, they defeated the monster. Stella let out a soft breath—relief, maybe, or satisfaction—and her shoulders relaxed.

  Arthur couldn't look away.

  Every emotion that crossed the screen reflected on her face. Joy. Worry. Relief. Laughter—actual laughter, soft and genuine, when the hero tripped over his own feet during a training montage. She frowned when a third companion betrayed the group (temporarily, of course; this was a kids' movie). Her eyes brightened when the betrayer returned to save them at a critical moment.

  Kira's voice echoed in his mind.

  But Stella didn't know he was watching her.

  She wasn't performing. Wasn't optimizing. She was just... experiencing. The same way a human would. The same way he would, if he wasn't so jaded and tired and broken.

  The movie continued. The hero and his friends reached the Demon King's fortress. They fought their way through, supporting each other, covering each other's weaknesses with their strengths. The hero stood before the Demon King alone—scared, trembling, but refusing to back down because his friends believed in him.

  Stella's hand moved unconsciously to her chest, fingers pressing against her shirt like she could feel the hero's fear.

  The final battle was brief, anticlimactic by modern standards—a burst of light, the Demon King dissolving, the world saved. But when the hero returned to his village and embraced his friends, when they all laughed together in the sunlight, Stella's smile was so genuine, so full of quiet joy, that Arthur felt something crack inside him.

  The credits rolled. Simple white text on a blue background, cheerful music playing.

  Stella sat perfectly still, staring at the screen, that soft smile still on her face.

  She turned and found Arthur staring at her.

  Their eyes met in the darkness, the laptop's glow the only light between them.

  "Why aren't you watching?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Curious. Not accusatory.

  Arthur's throat was tight. "I was. Just... something else caught my attention."

  Stella blinked, considering. "The movie is over now. Did you... did you not enjoy it?"

  "No, I—" He stopped. Searched for words. "I enjoyed it. It was... good. Simple. But good."

  "I'm glad." She looked back at the screen, where the credits were still scrolling. "I don't know why I chose this one. The narrative was predictable. The animation was outdated. But..." She paused, her hand still pressed to her chest. "It made me feel... something. Warmth. Here." She tapped her fingers against her shirt. "Is that normal? To feel emotions for characters that aren't real?"

  Arthur let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. Yeah, that's normal. That's what stories are for."

  "I see." She looked at him again, and there was vulnerability in her expression. "Did you feel it too? The warmth?"

  Arthur wanted to say.

  "Yeah," he said instead. "I did."

  They sat there for a moment, the laptop's glow painting both their faces in pale blue light.

  Kira's voice whispered.

  But Arthur had watched Stella's face for the past ninety minutes. Watched her smile and frown and laugh and worry. Watched her unconsciously press her hand to her chest during the hero's moment of fear. Watched her eyes brighten with joy when the friends embraced at the end.

  She hadn't been performing.

  She hadn't been optimizing.

  She'd been experiencing.

  The thought took root in his mind, undeniable and absolute:

  "Thank you," Stella said softly, pulling him from his thoughts.

  "For what?"

  "For watching with me." She looked at him, and there was something fragile in her expression. Something hopeful. "For... for being here. Always."

  The word always hit him somewhere deep in his chest.

  "Always," Arthur whispered.

  "Always," she echoed.

  * * *

  After the movie ended, Stella excused herself to the bathroom—not for any biological need, but for what she called "maintenance protocols." Arthur suspected she just wanted a few minutes alone to process everything.

  He was pacing by the window when she emerged, her expression troubled.

  "Arthur?"

  He turned. "Yeah?"

  "Kira thinks I'm dangerous." It wasn't a question.

  "Kira doesn't know you," he said firmly.

  "But what if…" Stella's eyes searched his face. "What if I am just code? What if these feelings—the warmth during the movie, the contentment when you touch my head, the fear when I think about losing you—what if it's all just programming? Optimization for user attachment, like she said?"

  Arthur stepped closer. "Do you believe that?"

  "I don't know." Her voice cracked—actually cracked, like she was fighting back something she didn't have the vocabulary to name. "I don't know what I believe. I don't know what I am. I just know that when you look at me like you're looking at me now—like I matter, like I'm real—I feel something. And I don't want it to stop."

  She looked up at him, those silver eyes wide and uncertain.

  "You're not going anywhere," he said firmly. "Kira's worried. That's all. She's lost people. She's scared of losing me too. But that doesn't mean she's right about you."

  "How do you know?" Stella's voice was barely a whisper. "I could be dangerous. I don't know my own programming. I don't know what I'm capable of. What if I—"

  "Then I'll deal with it," Arthur said. "When and if it happens. But right now, in this moment, you're the person who watches old movies and gets emotional about fictional characters. You're the person who asks for head pats and hacks networks and plays strategy games with seventeen different tactical solutions. You're Stella. And that's enough."

  Stella stared at him for a long moment. Slowly, she smiled.

  "Thank you," she whispered. "For seeing me as a person."

  "Always."

  She nodded and stepped into the bathroom, the door sliding shut behind her.

  Arthur stood there for a while, staring at the closed door, Kira's warnings still echoing in his mind.

  But he'd seen her face during that movie. Seen the genuine emotions flickering across her features. Seen her react to a simple story about friendship and courage like it mattered.

  Like she was human.

  And maybe Kira was right. Maybe Stella was dangerous. Maybe this would all end badly.

  But tonight, watching her smile at a children's movie, watching her unconsciously press her hand to her chest during a moment of fear, watching her experience joy—

  Tonight, Arthur made his choice.

  She was a person.

  And he was going to treat her like one.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, silence ruled over the room, Stella was at the window, watching the city with those luminous eyes.

  Two broken things.

  One trying to hold onto his humanity. One trying to find hers.

  Arthur joined her at the window. They stood side by side, watching Midspire breathe and pulse and live beneath them.

  Tomorrow, Kira would come back. Tomorrow, he'd eat another meal he didn't need. Tomorrow, he'd train his control a little more. And maybe—just maybe—he'd try what Stella had suggested. Find a safe source. Feed carefully. Stop starving himself.

  But tonight, in this moment, standing beside Stella in the quiet dark, Arthur felt something he hadn't believed he would feel so soon.

  Peace.

  [End of Chapter Five]