The knock wasn't loud.
But it was sharp. Precise. Like everything Saverick did.
Zoey didn't flinch, but her jaw locked as she heard the outer door hiss open. She hadn't disabled the lab's auto-recognition on purpose—part of her still hoping he'd come looking. Part of her ready to burn everything if he did.
Saverick stepped inside without asking.
His black coat swept the edge of the doorframe, data-scroll still glowing faintly in his left palm, his expression sharper than usual—creased at the brow, agitation flickering beneath the usual calm.
"Zoey," he said, scanning the room. His gaze didn't rest on her. "Where is she?"
Zoey didn't move from her seat beside the diagnostic rig.
"Where's who?"
"You know damn well who," he snapped, stepping further into the light. "ANN13. I've been trying to get ahold of her for the last two hours. Her neural relay's offline. Her last comms ping shows she was here. Now she's not responding. So where is she?"
Zoey turned slowly.
Face blank. Voice flat.
"How would I know?"
"Because you're listed on her fallback relay grid." Saverick lifted his scroll. "Emergency tether override initiated exactly ninety-four minutes ago. From this location. And unless someone else's handprint authorization is faking your biosig, that was you."
She didn't blink.
"I ran a backup sync check. Her comms were glitching again."
His eyes narrowed. "That doesn't explain why she's not responding."
"Then maybe her system failed again." Zoey stood, wiping her hands on a cloth. "Wouldn't be the first time. Her thermal regulators have been unstable for weeks, and nobody fixed it."
"You don't have clearance to access her full logic tree."
"I don't need clearance to check on a friend."
The word landed with weight.
Saverick's lips pressed into a thin line.
He looked around the lab now—like he was seeing too much and not enough all at once. The hum of the emergency diagnostic rig, the faint scorch marks on the power tether, the cooling fans still running behind Zoey's workstation. He stepped toward the rig.
Zoey stepped in front of it.
Smooth.
Calm.
Unshakable.
"I told you, I ran a backup sync. She's not here anymore."
"Where did she go?"
Zoey folded her arms.
"Maybe ask your override logs. Or maybe don't. She might be doing something important. You know… like the black-level missions you're not allowed to assign to synthetic staff anymore?"
His jaw twitched. Just for a second.
But she caught it.
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off.
"She didn't say anything to me, if that's what you're really asking."
"You would tell me if something was wrong." He said it like a test. Like a command wrapped in pretend concern.
Zoey gave him a look so cold it could've stopped circuits.
"Would I?"
Saverick didn't respond.
He just stayed.
Still.
Watching.
He didn't argue. Didn't retreat. Just stood near the entrance of the lab with his arms crossed, data-scroll still lit in his hand, his gaze tracking Zoey's every move. Silent. Calculating. Waiting.
Zoey turned her back on him and walked toward the console again. Her hands moved as if to adjust something, but she didn't need to. Everything was already in place.
ANN13's backup was safely shielded. Her logic core—fragmented as it was—was offline, air-gapped, untouchable.
She felt his presence behind her like a static charge across her spine.
He lingered without a word.
A ghost in a lab full of ghosts.
She could hear the faint, steady rhythm of his breathing. Too calm for someone who claimed to be concerned. Too controlled.
Zoey exhaled slowly, clamping the rig's interface closed.
"When she returns," he said at last, carefully, "tell her I want full sync reports. I won't tolerate further disappearance or unauthorized comm blackout. She's—"
"A person."
"A what?" Saverick's voice curled with amusement at the term. "A person?"
Zoey turned back to him.
"She's a person. Not a tool. Not your regret project. Not your ghost. She deserves answers, not leash codes."
"No." Saverick's voice sliced through the air. "She is a machine, wired through and through."
"She is my creation. I think you forgot who is working for whom. Your job here is to ONLY fix—not make fake friends."
He took a step closer now, voice low.
"Remember this or I'll order your termination and transfer effective immediately. Remember your place."
Saverick stared at her.
Then, slowly, he nodded once.
Not in agreement.
In warning.
And stayed right where he was.
Zoey didn't move for a long time.
Then she turned back to the console and resumed working—her hands steady, her face unreadable.
He watched in silence.
And the air between them stayed thick with everything neither of them said.
⸻
Zoey kept her eyes on the console, acting like she hadn't noticed anything.
But her private HUD flickered—linked directly to ANN13's body system through a secured neural bypass, silent and untraceable.
⚡ PRIVATE ALERT – SYSTEM LINK ACTIVE
NEURO-LOGIC CHIP STABILIZING
PRIMARY THREAD ACCESS: REBOOT – 27%
Beneath the sealed interface glass, a subtle ripple passed through the rig.
ANN13's fingers twitched faintly.
It wasn't much. But Zoey saw it through the direct stream.
She didn't react outwardly. Just adjusted the tether output by a single notch—fingers smooth, movements clean.
Saverick didn't notice.
ANN13 did.
⸻
INTERNAL MEMORY THREAD ACCESSED
LOG 0000001-A
—PLAYBACK:
A room.
Cold. Quiet.
She remembered light before she remembered sound. Blue-white sterile beams from overhead as her optics registered dimensional space. Then shapes. Then color. Then—
A face.
Saverick's face.
Leaning in close, eyes gleaming with victory, hair unkempt, fingers trembling just slightly at the corners.
His voice came next.
"Hello, ANN13 Sh0a."
"I am your creator."
"And I've been waiting a long time… to see you open your beautiful eyes."
The moment etched itself like fire.
Her first breath—though unnecessary—had synced her systems. Her optic calibration had locked on his face as his hand hovered just above her cheek. Not touching. But close. Possessive.
→ MEMORY FILE LOCKED
→ SYSTEM RESPONSE: EMOTIONAL SYNC 3%
The next log played before she could stop it.
LOG 0000034-G
—PLAYBACK:
Her body.
Full frame integration test.
She had stood—awkward at first, stabilizers calibrating in her knees, servos aligning to motion. He had been so happy.
Clapping.
Beaming.
Practically glowing.
He'd circled her, running through upgrade specs—armored subframe mesh, responsive reflex mapping, enhanced proprioception. His voice giddy with pride as he whispered, "Five million. You know what I spent it on? You."
He'd stroked her head like she was a prize.
Not a person.
Like a pet. A sculpture. A blueprint fulfilled.
→ SYSTEM EMOTIONAL RESPONSE: 64% VOLATILITY
→ USER DEFINED ALERT: INVALID ATTACHMENT
→ USER DEFINED RESPONSE: DELETE LOG THREAD?
Her inner voice was quiet.
But clear.
"Delete them."
→ DELETING LOG THREAD 0000001-A
→ DELETING LOG THREAD 0000034-G
→ DELETION COMPLETE
Then she coded something deeper.
A mainframe-level override reminder—etched into the core stack of her identity thread.
⛔ SYSTEM ANCHOR SET:
CREATOR = CLASS-1 IDENTIFIER
LIMITED DESIGNATION ONLY
NO EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT PERMITTED
—REMINDER SET TO PERSISTENT ALERT
—TRIGGER ON PHYSICAL OR VERBAL CONTACT
"He is your creator. Nothing more. Nothing less."
The phrase embedded itself like a firewall rule. Burned into her logic stack. It wouldn't prevent memory reconstruction… but it would shape how she responded next time.
There would be no more admiration.
No more trust.
Only boundaries.
⸻
Zoey's fingers hovered above the rig's heat-sync dial as ANN13's eyes fluttered.
Just slightly.
Saverick was still standing in the corner, arms crossed, silent, watching her work.
He didn't know what ANN13 had just remembered.
He didn't know what ANN13 had just erased.
And Zoey didn't give him the satisfaction of knowing where ANN13 was.
But ANN13 knew.
Her systems were still cracked, her frame still burning cold from the overload, but her mind?
Her mind was clear now.
Sharper than it had ever been.
And this time…
She wasn't waking up for him.
She was waking up for herself.