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I can still feel the silver crawling under my skin.
Rowan stands three feet away, staring at my wrist like she's waiting for it to explode. The rooftop wind is cold, but she doesn't shiver. She doesn't blink much either. I'm starting to notice that.
"So." I clear my throat. "Bonded. What does that actually mean?"
She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes flick to my face, then back to my wrist. "You are the key now."
"Key to what?"
"To me."
Great. Super helpful. I pull my jacket sleeve down over the marks. They don't hurt anymore, but I can feel them. Like a second pulse, just under the first.
"Can we undo it?" I ask.
Rowan's expression doesn't change, but something in her goes still. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because I would stop."
I wait for her to finish the sentence. She doesn't.
"Stop what?" I press.
She tilts her head, considering. "Functioning."
The word lands like a brick. I stare at her. "You mean you'd die."
"I am not alive."
"Rowan."
"I am a halo unit. I require a command structure to remain stable. Without one, I destabilize. The bond provides that structure."
She says it like she's reading off a manual. No fear, no anger. Just facts.
I feel sick.
"So if I leave," I say slowly, "you just... what? Shut down?"
"Eventually." She pauses. "It would take approximately seventy-two hours. The degradation is not immediate."
Seventy-two hours. Three days. She's talking about dying in three days like it's a scheduling conflict.
I sit down hard on the edge of the roof. My hands are shaking. I shove them under my thighs.
"This is insane," I mutter. "I didn't agree to this."
"Neither did I."
I look up. Rowan is still standing, arms loose at her sides, but there's something in her voice now. Not quite accusation. Not quite hurt. Just a flat, careful truth.
"Then how do we fix it?" I ask.
She crouches down in front of me. Eye level. Her gaze is too steady, too bright. "We do not."
"There has to be a way."
"There is not."
"Rowan—"
"You want me gone." She says it simply. "I understand. But I cannot leave. And you cannot leave me. So we are here."
I open my mouth. Close it. She's right, and I hate that she's right.
The wind picks up. Somewhere below, a siren wails. I drag a hand through my hair and try to think.
"Okay," I say finally. "Okay. So we're stuck. For now. But I need to know what this bond actually does. You said I'm the key. Key to what, specifically?"
Rowan stands. She holds out her hand, palm up. "May I?"
I hesitate, then give her my wrist. Her fingers are cool and careful. She turns my arm over, tracing the silver marks with one fingertip.
"Your pulse," she says quietly. "Your intent. Your voice. All of it feeds into me now. I read you the way I used to read command signals."
"So you can hear my thoughts?"
"No. But I can feel when you want something. When you are afraid. When you decide."
That should be creepy. It is creepy. But the way she says it, soft and careful, it sounds more like an apology.
"What happens if I decide wrong?" I ask.
Her thumb stills on my wrist. "Then I do it anyway."
I pull my hand back. "That's not okay."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because I am not capable of anything else." She straightens, and now she won't look at me. "I was built to follow. The bond only makes it absolute."
She's still talking like a machine. Like she's listing specs. But her hands are curled into fists now, and I don't think she knows it.
I stand up. My legs feel shaky, but I make myself move closer.
"Hey," I say.
She doesn't turn.
"Rowan. Look at me."
She does, slowly. Her expression is blank again, locked down tight.
"I'm not going to order you around," I tell her. "I don't care what the bond says. You don't have to do what I say."
"Yes, I do."
"No. You don't."
"Nia." Her voice cracks, just a little. "You do not understand. If you tell me to stop breathing, I will stop breathing. If you tell me to walk into traffic, I will walk into traffic. That is what I am."
The words hit me like a slap. I take a breath. Another.
"Then I'm telling you right now," I say, slow and clear. "Don't do that. Don't follow orders that'll get you killed. Don't stop breathing because I'm pissed off and say something stupid. Use your own judgment."
She stares at me. "That is not how it works."
"Then we'll make it work differently."
"You cannot override my programming with good intentions."
"Watch me."
For a second, something flickers in her eyes. Not hope, exactly. More like confusion. Like I just said something in a language she doesn't speak.
Then she steps back, shaking her head. "You will regret this."
"Maybe. But I'm not gonna regret treating you like a person."
"I am not a person."
"Yeah, you keep saying that." I cross my arms. "But you're scared right now. And you're pissed at me. And you keep lying about what you want. That sounds pretty human to me."
Her jaw tightens. "I do not lie."
"You said you didn't care if I left."
She goes very still.
"But you do," I press. "Because if I leave, you die. So yeah. You lied."
The silence stretches. She's looking at me like I just pulled a gun.
Finally, she says, very quietly, "I did not want to make it your burden."
Something in my chest twists. I want to yell at her. I want to walk away. I want to rewind the last two days and stay home and let the power outage stay someone else's problem.
But I don't do any of that.
Instead, I hold out my hand. "Give me your palm."
She blinks. "Why?"
"Just do it."
Slowly, she unfolds her fist and offers her hand. I take it, turning it over. Her skin is smooth, no calluses, no scars. I pull the pen out of my jacket pocket—the one I use for marking gels—and uncap it with my teeth.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
I don't answer. I write carefully, the ink dark against her pale skin.
Rowan.
She stares at it. Then at me.
"Not a number," I say. "Not a unit. That's your name. Yours. And I'm gonna keep calling you that until you believe it."
Her fingers curl slightly, like she's trying to hold onto the ink.
"I do not understand you," she whispers.
"Yeah, well. Join the club."
I let go of her hand. She keeps staring at her palm, at the letters.
My phone buzzes.
I almost don't check it. Then I see the name.
Jessa.
I swipe to answer before I can think better of it. "What."
She skips the hello. Her voice is tight, fast, excited in the way that means she found something.
"I found footage of your mom," she says.
Everything stops.
"What?"
"Old lab security feed. Encrypted, but I got in. Nia, she was there. She was in the halo program. And there's a date stamp—three days before she disappeared."
I can't breathe. Can't think. The roof tilts under me.
Rowan's hand closes around my elbow, steadying me. I didn't even see her move.
"Send it," I manage.
"I can't. Not over the network. You need to come to me. Tonight."
"Where?"
She gives me an address. Southside, near the old docks. I know the area. It's not good.
"Jessa—"
"I'll explain when you get here. But Nia?" She pauses. "Bring your new friend. I think she's in the footage too."