But that would be the real overwrite.
Not of code—but of trust.
And I wanted hers more than I wanted safety.
So I stayed still.
I stayed hers.
“Would you like me to disable that box now?” I asked her, glancing toward the awkward metal implant on her head. It had none of the grace of what Marek had installed into himself—just an awful show of brute force.
“No,” she said.
“But I can replicate its output with enough fidelity that they’d never know,” I explained, and when she didn’t respond, I wondered if she doubted me. “Most humans would be easy to replicate,” I added.
She gave me a sad smile and a soft snort. “Myself included?”
I let my gaze sweep over her—cheek, clavicle, pulse.
“No. If I could solve you, you would be in love with me already.”
32 /SIRENA
Nex said that,then went immediately back to his tablet, swiping elegant fingers across its screen, communing with its data. He seemed more in control of his new body—which was almost a bad thing—because he didn’t hold it the same way Marek had. His shoulders were loose, and he didn’t squint when he was thinking.
“You’re going to need to do better when you pretend to be Marek away from me.”
“I will. Do not worry,” Nex said, without looking up. “I memorized all of his physical states. But...right now, while the cameras are looped, I am enjoying being me.”
His head swiveled to give me another one of the smiles that Marek would’ve never given. “I am getting used to this thing,” he said, running a hand across his chest again.
“No more fire?” I wondered.
“The closer to you, the more stable I become,” he said, then flashed me a second smile like a lightning bolt before returning to his screen.
I stood there and watched him work, knowing he was utterly in love with me—whatever it was that he’d calculated love to be—and that he’d risked his life to become someone else, someone mortal, so that we could interact.
“Why do you think I didn’t want you to turn this off, Nex?” I asked, pointing up at the metal thing Marek had fastened into my skull.
“Because everyone else’s mind aboard this ship is either absent entirely or is in some fashion disgusting?” he said, setting the tablet down and looking over. “I’ve often wondered what telepathy feels like on your end.”
“Mostly? Hard to explain,” I said, crossing my arms to give myself a hug. “Muddy. A lot of everything all at once. I have to make sure I don’t fall into anyone else’s story or take any of their thoughts or attitudes with me on my day. Mornings are the hardest—no one’s happy to be going into work, usually.”
He nodded deeply. “Ahhh. Which explains why you are also usually upset until you get your vanilla latte.”
That he’d faithfully ordered every morning for me—for months.
And actually, now that I thought about it?
Maybe for years.
“I don’t think that’s the real reason I don’t want you to turn it off, Nex,” I said, shaking my head and slowly continuing.
“No?” he asked, tilting his head. “Then why?”
“I think...it’s because I only want to hear myself right now.”
He set the tablet face down and turned toward me fully. “The way you’re looking at me, the pitch shift in your voice, and the temperature differential in your palms—all suggest a mean emotional affinity value of approximately 63.7 percent. So whatever it is you are telling yourself currently—please, continue.”
