Tell him to walk away. Or I will.
I glance at Roo, ready to explain what I suspect, but my phone buzzes softly in my hand.
Locke:
Still here, Eris. You didn’t have to leave. You can talk to me.
And the worst part is…
I want to.
Isee her before I truly realize it’s her. She stands out amongst the crowd, her jet black hair purposefully messy, gray eyes bright against her blushing cheeks. Tight dress leaving too much on display while also not showing me near enough to appease my imagination.
The bar is just noise and heat, too many voices layering over shitty bass that makes conversation a chore. I don’t belong here, not really.
But I followed the ping from Jace’s search, a live location match on the user we’re all obsessing over. And I tell myself I’m only here to observe.
She’s supposed to be data.
A test.
A user lost in a wall of code.
Then I hear her talking to the bartender.
She has a laugh that hits like static, sending the hairs along my arms standing on end. He calls her Eris too, which makes me wonder if it’s a nickname or her real name. I lean toward the latter, if only because of their familiarity.
A red-headed woman swaggers over, barely stopping her movements as she grabs Eris by the hand and leads her to the dance floor. At first, she plants her boots, grounding herself like she doesn’t care if the floor decides to quit holding her up. But I observe the way her body loosens up with a laugh.
And then she’s dancing. It’s not planned, not trying to be sexy. She looks like she’s just… trying to shake something loose. The woman in black spins beside her, all sharp edges and shimmering makeup, the two of them moving like they’ve carved out that space by sheer will.
Eris… She doesn’t match the behavioral notes Silas logged. I’ve seen her digital reflection enough times to think I understood who she is.
But this? This is different.
She’s different.
Real in a way the data never captures.
I send her a message through the admin feed, typing without looking at my screen, and hope my autocorrect fixes anything I might misspell.
Locke:
Are you still dancing, Eris? Or thinking about me again?
When she slips into the booth across the bar, I almost go to her. But I don’t move. I just watch, fascinated by every expression on her face.
She glances at her phone and smiles, though there’s an edge to it.
Something in my chest goes tight. Sharp, but not sentimental. I wish I knew what she was thinking…
Locke:
Do you want me to tell you how beautiful you are when you laugh? Do you know already? Or are you waiting for someone else to tell you?
Eris:
You’re not real.
