“No one deserves to die because an AI decides it.”
“But especially not academics who stumbled across something accidentally.” She leans slightly closer, seeking additional warmth. “How do you do it? How do you live knowing that system is out there killing innocent people?”
“By fighting it.”
“Doesn’t the futility ever get to you? You said sometimes Phoenix wins. How many people has it killed while you’ve been fighting it?”
Too many. Far too fucking many.
“Can’t save everyone.”
“But you try.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Because someone has to. Because letting Phoenix operate without opposition means accepting that artificial intelligence can decide who lives and dies based on algorithmic threat assessment.
Because Dr. Eliza Wren deserves to live long enough to decode whatever ancient mysteries fascinate her brilliant mind.
“Someone has to.”
She shifts again, and her ass grinds against my groin. The contact sends heat racing through my system that has nothing to do with shared warmth and everything to do with the way her body moves against mine. My cock hardens immediately, and there’s no way she can’t feel it pressing against her.
Dangerous territory.
“Cooper?”
“Yeah.”
“When you said Phoenix was privatized—that means someone is profiting from these murders, right? Someone ismaking money by selling assassination services disguised as autonomous AI operations.”
Smart. Too fucking smart.
“Probably.”
“Who would pay for that kind of service?”
“Anyone with enough money and something to hide.”
“Corporations? Governments? Criminal organizations?”
“All of the above.”
Her breathing evens out slightly as shared body heat starts making a difference. But she’s still shivering, still losing core temperature faster than we can replace it.
Time for another tactical adjustment.
“Closer.”
“What?”
“You’re still losing heat. Move closer.”
“I don’t think?—”
“Dr. Wren.” Her name comes out rough with frustration. “This is about survival, not seduction. Move closer or develop hypothermia. Your choice.”
