She opened the book, and a small piece of paper fell out, a bookmark covered in careful handwriting.
“I keep notes,” she explained, retrieving the paper. “Thoughts, questions, things I want to remember. The margins are full of them too. Ari says I should use the digital annotation system, but there’s something about writing by hand...”
“It feels more real.”
“Yes.” She looked at him with surprise, as if she hadn’t expected him to understand. “Exactly. It feels like leaving a piece of myselfin the pages. Like having a conversation, even if no one answers back.”
No one answers back.
The phrase echoed in his mind as they continued upwards through the tower.
“My quarters are on this level,” she said, pausing at the next landing. “But the greenhouse is at the top, and that’s really what I want to show you. You’ll love it. Well—” She laughed, a self-conscious sound. “I assume you’ll love it. I don’t actually know what you like. I don’t know what anyone likes, really. Only myself. And Pip.” She glanced at the creature still perched on his shoulder. “Though Pip mostly likes sleeping and stealing fruit.”
Pip chirped indignantly.
“He understood that,” he observed.
“He understands everything. He just pretends not to when it suits him.”
He laughed and gestured to the stairs.
“Lead the way.”
She gave him a quick, bright smile that transformed her face and hurried up the stairs. He followed her, automatically cataloging details. The tower’s interior was a strange mixture of stone walls that looked centuries old, but were embedded with technology that hummed with quiet power. He caught the soft glow of the sensors tracking their movements. The AI was everywhere, silent and watchful.
A gilded cage,he thought.With invisible bars.
They emerged onto the top level, and his breath caught.
The greenhouse spread before them in a riot of color, illuminated by the afternoon sunlight streaming through a glass dome that shouldn’t have existed. The exterior of the tower had appeared to be solid stone, capped with weathered tiles. But from inside, he could see that it was actually a sophisticated structure of transparent panels, carefully angled to maximize light exposure while appearing opaque from outside.
“Ari designed it,” she said, misreading his expression as he studied the roof. “The tiles are actually solar collectors on the outside. They power most of the tower’s systems and provide full-spectrum lighting for the plants when natural light isn’t sufficient. But at this time of day...”
She gestured, and he understood. The sunlight poured through the dome in rivers of amber and gold, painting the rows of plants in colors that seemed almost impossible. Leaves gleamed like burnished copper. Flowers glowed with inner fire. The air itself seemed to shimmer, thick with moisture and the complex scent of growing things.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, and meant it.
She beamed. “I’ve spent so much time up here. Every morning before breakfast, and every evening before the light fades. The plants need consistent attention—watering schedules, nutrient adjustments, pest monitoring—but I don’t mind. They’re good company.”
Good company.The words hit him harder than they should have. He watched her move through the rows, trailing her fingers along leaves and stems, murmuring to plants that couldn’t hear her. This was her world. These silent, growing things were her companions, her friends, her only society besides an AI that controlled her every breath.
“Tell me about your experiments,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
“Oh!” She spun towards him, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I have so many. Come, let me show you.”
She led him to a section near the back of the greenhouse, where rows of identical plants grew in carefully labeled containers. Each label was covered with precise handwriting listing dates, conditions, and variables being tested.
“These are moonvine cuttings,” she explained, gesturing to the first row. “I’ve been testing their response to different light spectrums. The standard botanical texts say they only bloom under white light, but I hypothesized that the flowering trigger might be related to specific wavelengths rather than overall intensity.”
“And?”
“I was right.” She grinned, pointing to a plant near the end of the row. Its leaves were unremarkable, but clusters of pale blue flowers clung to its stems. “Blue-shifted light at specific intervals. It took me three years to isolate the exact parameters, but I finally got consistent blooming.”
“Three years.” He studied the small flowers, trying to imagine the patience required. “That’s dedication.”
“I had time.” Something flickered across her face—not quite sadness, but something adjacent to it. “I have a lot of time.”
She moved on before he could respond, leading him past experiments in grafting, nutrient optimization, and hybrid development. Each project was meticulously documented, the work of years condensed into neat labels and careful records.He listened as she explained her methods, her hypotheses, her successes and failures, and felt something cold settle in his chest.
