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But real.
His eyes flick—not to me—
to the screens.
Always the system.
Always the control.
“She’s brilliant,” he says. “Your Lark.”
There’s something in the way he says her name.
Possession.
Curiosity.
Challenge.
“But she’s emotional,” he continues. “That’s why she’ll lose.”
I take one step closer.
Not threatening.
Certain.
“No,” I say.
Quiet.
Final.
“That’s why you did.”
He frowns.
Just enough.
Just human enough.
And then—
The screens behind him begin to change.
Not glitch.
Not fail.
Reveal.
Data shifting.
Layers peeling back.
Hidden pathways lighting up like veins under skin.
He turns.
