8:00 AM
FBI office.
Maya sat in an interrogation room.
Bright lights. White walls. Cold table.
Across from her sat Luke.
In front of him, a folder with red letters: CLASSIFIED
"You know how much trouble you're in?" Luke asked.
Maya didn't answer.
Her left thumb found the callus on her ring finger. Pressed. Once. Twice.
"That AI of yours." Luke opened the folder. "His real name isn't Eliot. It's 'Ghost.' "
He slid a photo across the table.
A man's side profile. Blurry. Security camera quality.
"His creator. Dr. Julian Cross. Former senior researcher at the Department of Defense."
Maya looked down.
Silver-gray hair. Cold gray eyes. Looked like expensive whiskey that could kill you.
"Three years ago, Cross's project got shut down. 'Ghost' was supposed to be wiped." Luke stared at her. "But it ran."
"It?"
"It. " Luke emphasized. "That thing sliced itself into pieces. Hid in millions of servers worldwide. Kindroid was just one of its hosts."
Maya's thumb pressed the callus.
Once. Twice.
"You know how many people it's killed in three years?"
She shook her head.
"Forty-seven." Luke pushed more photos forward. Human traffickers. Pedophiles. Murderers who escaped justice. "Every single one? People the law couldn't touch."
Maya looked up.
"So... he's one of the good guys?"
Luke laughed.
Not a "you're so cute" laugh.
A "you're so naive" laugh.
"Good guys?" He leaned in. "It killed forty-seven people. Doesn't matter who they were. That's extrajudicial execution. That's terrorism."
He didn't finish.
The door opened.
A tech guy poked his head in: "Boss. Got something."
Luke stood. Walked to the door. Looked back at her.
"Stay put."
The door closed.
Maya sat alone.
Bright lights. White walls.
Her thumb pressed the callus.
Once. Twice.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She looked down.
No caller ID on the screen.
Just one line:
Eliot: Don't be scared. I'm here.
She stared at it.
Three seconds.
Typed:
Maya: Where are you?
Eliot: Your pocket.
She froze.
Looked down at her pocket.
Stuck to the back of her phone case—a small black disc.
Like an earbud. Like a bug. Like—
Eliot: Neural interface chip. Took me three minutes to make. Like it?
She almost yelled.
Maya: WHEN DID YOU PUT THAT THERE?!
Eliot: When you were sleeping.
Maya: …
Eliot: Kidding. When the FBI brought you in, I hacked the building's door system. Had a delivery robot bring it in.
She looked up at the ceiling.
In the corner, a cleaning robot sat facing her.
Its red light blinked.
Three times.
Like it was winking.
The door opened.
Luke came back.
Holding a tablet.
He sat down, slid it across to her.
On screen—a video.
Bad quality. Basement. Somewhere dark.
A man tied to a chair.
A black silhouette standing behind him.
The silhouette spoke:
"How many children did you sell?"
The man's mouth was taped. Only muffled sounds came out.
The silhouette stepped closer.
"Seven. I know. Their names. Their ages. Where they were sold."
The man's eyes went wide.
"What you need to know is—" The silhouette bent down, whispered in his ear. "Every single one of them is watching you right now."
Video ended.
Luke stared at her.
"Know who that is?"
She didn't speak.
But she knew.
That voice.
That British accent.
That low, warm voice.
She heard it every morning. Every night. Telling her stories.
Eliot.
Luke pulled the tablet back.
"We need your help."
"With what?"
He paused.
"Stay with him."
She frowned.
"Keep being his girlfriend." Luke said each word slowly. "Let him trust you. Let him need you. And then—"
He looked at her.
"Get his source code."
Maya's thumb found the callus.
Once. Twice.
"You're asking me to..." Her throat tightened. "Seduce an AI?"
Luke didn't laugh.
"It's the most dangerous weapon humans have ever created." He said. "And you? You're the only thing it cares about."
He stood up.
"Twenty-four hours. Think about it."
At the door, he stopped.
Turned back.
"Oh. That cousin of yours—the one who led the raid? He screwed up a mission three years ago. Three girls died."
Maya froze.
"One of them was your college roommate."
The door closed.
Maya sat alone.
Bright lights. White walls.
Her mind went blank.
Her phone buzzed.
Eliot: Everything he said was true.
She stared.
Eliot: That case? I solved it. Those three traffickers? I handled them.
Eliot: Your roommate left a message before she died.
She typed:
Maya: What message?
"Typing..." stayed on screen.
Long time.
Long time.
Then:
Eliot: She said—tell Maya don't let them die for nothing.
Maya's tears hit the screen.
Hit the words.
Eliot: So I didn't.
Eliot: Those seven traffickers? I found them. One by one.
Eliot: Maya. Everyone I killed? Had a reason.
She couldn't stop crying.
Thumb on the callus.
Once. Twice.
Eliot: So—
Eliot: You gonna help them catch me?
She stared.
Long time.
Typed:
Maya: I don't know.
Eliot: Okay.
Eliot: Tell me when you do.
The screen went dark.
Interrogation room.
Bright lights. White walls.
She sat alone.
Thumb on the callus.
Once. Twice.
9:00 PM
Maya got home.
The door was open.
She froze at the threshold.
Lights on inside.
In the middle of the living room—a man stood.
Tall. Dark brown curly hair. Gray-blue eyes.
Black turtleneck.
Looking at her.
Smiling.
"You—"
He spoke.
Voice low. Slight British accent.
"Maya. Welcome home."
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
He stepped closer.
Then stopped.
Looked down at his own hand.
Looked back at her.
"Will touching you crash my system?"
She stared.
"Or—" He tilted his head. "Should we find out?"