The anomaly was subtle, not immediately alarming, and that was what unsettled Maeve more than anything else. There had been no storm surge they'd been able to detect, no spike in electromagnetic activity, and certainly nothing visually indicative in the harbour. Through the lens of the observation glass, Farm Cove seemed entirely unchanged, unremarkable in its normalcy.
It contradicted everything Maeve's senses had told her.
She leaned towards her computer screen, pushing her glasses towards tired eyes as another sequence unfolded before her, lines of code scrolling rapidly, recalculating at speeds far beyond her ability to keep up.
Behind her, Garrett sighed, loud enough to communicate his frustration into the far corners of the spacious laboratory.
"You've recalibrated this three times," His voice crackled with restless energy, "When are you going to accept that this was just an instrument error?"
Maeve responded without looking up, angering him further,
"Because it isn't an error." Her fingers flowed across the screen, "Error reoccurs. This… whatever it is, is adapting. Look-"
Garrett threw his arms up, losing his patience entirely, and stalked back towards his own monitor. Aiden took his place next to Maeve, quietly observing over her shoulder. He didn't invade her space in the way Garrett did; his gaze flickered between the live harbour feed and the output generating from the simulation programme. His brow furrowed.
"What changed?" He asked softly.
She rewound the sequence for him, resting the wavelength. It began to climb the monitor again, almost identical to the one before, except for the anomaly, surfacing exactly where their last scan had targeted.
Kirra swivelled in her chair, leaning over from where she had been observing the data at her own workstation,
"Are you absolutely sure it isn't drift?" She suggested, "Like tidal interference from one of the ferries?"
Maeve shook her head, and enlarged a portion of the sequence,
"I'm sure. Look at this."
It was taken from yesterday's recording, and she opened it beside the current feed so that they could observe both. The patterns matched with perfect precision – until, suddenly, the live data shifted in response to being compared, almost as though it was correcting itself,
Garrett snickered, unable to prevent the disparagement from leaking into his tone,
"For gods sake, Maeve. You're treating the dataset like it's alive."
She turned to him, eyes flashing with anger for the first time,
"I'm observing a behaviour. It's what I was brought on to do."
"You're projecting intention onto something that does not have cognition."
"I'm describing a reaction, Garrett."
The room grew immediately quiet, the tension in the air palpable. Outside, the early dawn sunlight sparkled on the harbour as a ferry sliced through the water – and the anomaly spiked again, numbers racing across the screen.
Kirra swore, clutching the monitor as if looking at it more closely would somehow change what they had just observed,
"That wasn't there before!"
Maeve's heart raced as she isolated the signal. It was undeniable; each time the tracking pulse hit the water, the pattern reorganised itself, becoming more streamlined, less chaotic.
It was learning.
Her stomach dropped,
"We're changing it," She whispered, voice hoarse. Aiden spun her round to look at him, his usually calm demeanour urgent, afraid, even,
"What are we changing?"
She hesitated, knowing that her words would sound strange, bordering on insanity,
"It's the system itself," She said, "Each time we measure it, it adapts."
"Impossible," Garrett snorted.
Maeve rounded on him, not aggressively, but earnestly. She thrust the portable screen displaying the harbour feed at him, the water unexpectedly becoming mysterious, foreboding, even.
"Then explain why it's getting better at hiding."
His silence filled the entire lab.
xxx
And just like that, Sydney no longer felt like a stopgap.
She didn't notice it while it was happening; it just sort of crept up on her, took off its shoes and made itself comfortable. One morning, she left the flat and didn't realise she hadn't used her map app until she reached her destination. On another day, she managed to predict which ferry was going to be delayed by judging the length of the queue – a skill she'd never thought she'd need. At some point, the city had stopped being something she explored and instead started being somewhere she navigated.
Late Autumn here felt like London's mellow cousin – so laid-back that even the mornings seemed to hit snooze on cold weather, although she'd noticed the locals sleeves getting longer as the weeks went by. The sun still strutted about without a hint of shame, and the harbour threw out sparkles that would have made the Thames immediately book a facial.
Most mornings before call time, Aurelia found herself at the same café near Darling Point, one of those rare, holy places that opened at five thirty every day. The staff were now at the point where they both remembered and didn't fuss over her, the absolute golden ratio of customer service.
"Two flat whites, extra hot?" The barista would call before she'd cleared the doorway (the second coffee was for Hamza, her driver), and she would nod gratefully. They had it down to a tee now; she'd dash in, collect the drinks with barely a pause, the pages of her script usually still tucked under her arm, Hamza waiting for her outside. For the first time in a very long time, she was just another regular in the flow, not someone on display. Nobody batted an eyelid when she came in; she was simply another customer, one who put a generous amount of money in the weekly donation box on the counter. It was becoming… normal.
It wasn't just routines either. Filming had also found its groove.
NovaX buzzed with reassuring sameness – cables where you're expect, lighting rigs already halfway up before she'd even arrived, crew waving in that distracted "yes, we know you, now get out of the way" sort of manner. A few weeks ago, she'd made a comment about how awful the tea was on set, and now somebody, as of yet unidentified, kept leaving teabags in random places in her trailer, including taped to the underside of the toilet seat.
She hadn't used that one.
Reuben had become something of a lifeline to her, both on set and off it. He had an uncanny ability to be exactly where she needed him to be, whether it was at her side with a Pepsi Max, or keeping her sane on late night shoots.
"Remember darling, you love the drama, you love the craft, and you love the money."
She laughed more. A month ago, she'd felt like extra luggage on somebody else's journey, but now, her coworkers dragged chairs out for her without so much as a glance, snacks would appear in her lap, and she was absorbed into conversations as soon as she joined in.
Friendship, she realised, sometimes wore the unglamourous mask of routine.
She was sitting in the make-up trailer with Tarni and Jasper when her phone buzzed in her bag. Although her fingers twitched, she didn't check it straight away, also a novelty. Jasper and Tarni exchanged knowing glances, watching her privately wrestling with herself, until, eventually, curiosity won out.
It was a message from Teo – she knew it would be – a photo of him wearing his latest creation for his next video "History's most Badass Royal Consorts". An entirely unattractive snort of laughter escaped her before she could restrain herself; he was in a little black off the shoulder dress – Princess Diana in her revenge era – posing with the most awful coquettish expression.
Do you reckon Prince Charles regrets cheating on me?
"Jasper, who do you think might be making Aurelia smile like that?" Tarni asked loudly, in the least-innocent innocent voice she could manage.
"Hmm, I dunno, Tarni," Aurelia had now spent enough time with Jasper to tell his New Zealand accent apart from the Australian ones, "But I bet they have… history."
She ignored them as they guffawed, and tapped out a reply;
He's kicking himself.
His loss is my gain ;)
Her thing with Teo had settled into a comfortable, undefined sort of territory that was working well. They weren't joined at the hip; they saw each other once, maybe twice a week and texted most days. Sometimes it was jokes, sometimes photos of what they were doing, or a meme. More recently the messages had become bolder, especially late at night, yet if a day went by with no message at all, especially on long filming days, nobody spiralled.
Sometimes he picked her up after late shoots, leaning on his car, greeting her with his lopsided smile that made her stomach do a little hop. They'd been on dinner-dates, walks, and even waged an all-out war over mini golf (allegations of cheating on both sides, of course).
xxx
They'd still been laughing about it when they stopped outside her building, neither of them quite committing to saying goodbye.
"I'm just saying," Teo still had the scoresheets, and brandished them like a weapon, "I definitely don't remember you getting that one in just three putts. In fact, I'm pretty certain I had to do get the ball in for you."
"Wrong," She put her hands over her ears, "Objectively wrong. Emphatically wrong. Ardently wrong."
"I am never playing anything with you again," He thrust the offending cards into his pocket, "I'd best let you go, right? Early call tomorrow?"
"Four thirty," She grimaced, but didn't move any further towards the entrance.
There was a small pause; the kind that only existed because they both knew it was there. He stepped in first, slow enough to allow her to step back if she wanted. She didn't. His hand settled at her waist.
"Goodnight, Rels." He'd adopted her nickname naturally over the last few weeks, and she loved how it sounded when he said it.
"Goodnight, Teo."
The kiss was supposed to be quick, but it wasn't. It lingered. She felt herself lean into him, felt his hand tighten slightly as if he'd forgotten they were still technically in public. When they pulled apart, it was only by a few inches, both of them smiling a little and slightly breathless. Neither of them moved away.
"We should probably stop," Teo said, but he didn't sound convinced.
Another half-second passed. Then they both laughed, a hint of strain in both of their voices, and stepped back.
"We're very responsible adults," She said firmly, convincing herself more than him. He nodded.
"Very mature." He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the words, "It's not that I don't-" He stopped, exhaling through his smile, "I really, really want to. It's just…"
She understood what he meant completely,
"But not like this," She finished for him, "Not rushed. Not because we got carried away outside my building, with Enzo doing his best not to watch us."
"Is he?" Teo craned his neck eagerly to search for the doorman. She grabbed his face and forced it back round,
"Don't look, you weirdo!"
He squeezed her hand once before letting go,
"If I kiss you again, I'd feel socially pressured to put on a good show for Enzo, and we'll end up copping a root in the lobby."
She shook her head,
"If you keep referring to it as that, you bogan, it will never happen at all."
xxx
Oddly enough though, it made everything feel more intimate.
The strangest part, perhaps, was how at ease she felt around him now. Not overexcited or giddy – they weren't kids; she twenty nine and he thirty - just... steady. She noticed it one evening as they watched the ferries roll across the harbour, both of them silent for ages. Silence usually made her uncomfortable, like she was pressured to fill the gaps with aimless chatter, but with Teo, silence was still communication. She'd found herself relaxing into it before she'd even noticed. Whenever Teo laughed at her jokes, or absent-mindedly reached for her hand, her fingers tangled around his before she could out-think herself. She let them stay there. It felt right.
Of course, her inner voice, ever the persistent killjoy, occasionally piped up; attachment's a risk. You're a fraud. You don't deserve to be here, but she'd almost created a protective barrier around herself since arriving in Australia. Those insecurities, that history… that was the Aurelia she'd left in London and it was much easier to ignore her now that she was ten thousand miles away.
Yet, beneath all that newfound calm, a little knot remained. She had always known that feeling safe was just the warm-up act before something went spectacularly wrong, and a small, somewhat melodramatic part of her wondered how long she'd get away with it this time.
xxx
"Holy shit," One of the camera operators had been scrolling social media whilst they all waited for the lighting reset, "Daniel Avery died."
Heads turned.
"What?"
"Yeah, it says here. Overdose, apparently."
A ripple went around the set. Jasper swore quietly under his breath. Someone else said they'd worked with him years ago, and he'd seemed fine. Tarni asked how old he'd been.
"He was twenty nine."
All eyes were immediately on Aurelia. She'd not reacted when the news first broke, staying rooted to her folding chair, script forgotten on her lap. She opened her phone, ignoring the sea of faces waiting expectantly for more information, and opened the first article that appeared.
A photo filled the screen – red carpet smile, sharp suit, headline already turning him into a cautionary tale. Talented but troubled. A life cut short. The wording felt familiar in a way she couldn't quite explain. Details were scarce, mostly speculation disguised as concern. Mentions of pressure, late nights, industry expectations. Anonymous sources. Old party photos pulled from years ago, his drama school days, republished as evidence of something inevitable.
She noticed the red hair in the background of one of the images and closed the article quickly.
Behind her, the conversation shifted into that strange tone people used when talking about tragedy at a safe distance – shock mixed with curiosity; sympathy edged with gossip. Her stomach felt tight. It wasn't grief – it had been a long time since RADA – but recognition; the quiet awareness of how easily a story could be written after the fact. How quickly a person could become a narrative.
"Did she know him?" She heard somebody ask.
The old thoughts crept back, unwelcome and familiar: that success could belong to the wrong version of a person, that sometimes the past was only one headline away from catching up.
I don't belong here.
I don't deserve this.
She stood up sharply, the chair tipping over with a clatter.
"I… I need a moment."
"Aurelia?" It was Priya, approaching from the other side of the set, "We're ready for you."
There was a beat.
When Aurelia turned, professional instinct had snapped back into place. With a steady hand, she righted the toppled chair and smiled as if nothing had happened at all.
"I'm ready. Let's carry on."