John rolled up his sleeves, already tugging open one of the massive drawers lined with cut metal sheets. The clang echoed sharp against the walls as he hauled out a square panel, laying it flat on the workbench.
"Alright," he said, patting it like it was a prized steak. "Here's a standard stainless cut. Quarter-inch. Been using it for years on automotive orders."
Nyxen floated over, lights flickering in a scanning rhythm. He didn't even hesitate before projecting a slim blue outline across the panel, marking dimensions midair.
"Too broad. Trim down to a width of twenty-two centimeters. The tensile strength is sufficient, but the density is a point three deviation from optimal."
John blinked at the glowing lines like a kid seeing magic for the first time. "Man, you're like a walking, uh, floating, measuring tape with an attitude."
"Correction," Nyxen drawled, his projection shifting as if drawing emphasis. "A measuring tape only records. I calculate."
Leon muffled a laugh at John's stunned face, but said nothing, leaning on the workbench with that quiet smirk.
John shook his head, pulling out another cut piece, this one slimmer, almost polished smooth. "Okay, then what about this? Anodized aluminum. Lighter. Flexible."
Nyxen drifted closer, light sharpening into a scan beam that washed across the sheet. "Acceptable only for outer casing. Internal load-bearing frames require higher yield. This..." he pulsed brighter at the aluminum, "...would warp under stress. Unless you enjoy catastrophic collapse."
"...Nope," John said quickly, sliding it back into the drawer. "No catastrophic collapse for me, thanks."
I smothered a laugh behind my hand as Sylvie's giggle echoed faintly from the waiting area.
John straightened, flipping through Nyxen's holographic list again. His brow furrowed. "Look, half of this stuff, titanium composites, reinforced alloys, I don't stock that. Not exactly something guys order for making fence gates and water tanks. But-" He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "My supplier does. I can put in the order, and when it comes in, I'll let Leon know."
Before Leon could even answer, Nyxen hummed a long, sharp note. "Unacceptable."
John's brows shot up. "Unacceptable? What do you mean? That's the fastest route unless you plan on mining ore yourself."
Nyxen swooped low over the bins and racks, his glow sweeping every angle of the workshop like a restless tide.
"We can't wait. The framework requires precision now, or the calculations will drift out of alignment. Every delay compounds inefficiency." His lights pulsed hard against a stack of spare cuts. "I will adapt. Use temporary placeholders."
John's mouth opened, then closed again as if searching for words. "Temporary placeholders? You mean, like, fake it 'til the real stuff comes in?"
"Not fake," Nyxen snapped, the word sharp as static. "Interim structure. Form maintained for calibration. When the correct materials arrive, replacements will be seamless." He tilted, scanning another rack. "Quality must not be compromised. Structure dictates integrity. Integrity dictates survival."
Leon glanced at me, something flickering in his eyes at that last word. But Nyxen didn't notice, he was too busy flaring his light against a set of narrow steel rods.
"These will suffice for internal scaffolding," he declared. "Mark them at thirty-two centimeters. Tolerances are tight, miscalculate, and you'll hear from me."
John barked out a laugh, still half-bewildered. "You sound like a drill sergeant. Fine, thirty-two on the dot. But you better not bite my head off if your placeholders bend."
Nyxen pulsed smugly. "They won't. Because unlike you, I don't settle for close enough."
John raised both brows, shooting Leon a look like, is he always like this?
Leon just shrugged with a grin. "Every day."
John lined up the steel rod against the cutter, sweat already prickling on his brow. He set the gauge, squinted, then reached for the power switch.
"No."
The word rang sharp through the air, Nyxen's glow flaring like an angry warning sign.
John froze, one hand hovering an inch above the switch. "...What?"
Nyxen drifted closer, projecting a thin blue line along the rod. "Off by two millimeters."
John blinked at the glowing line, then down at his careful setup. "Two millimeters? You gotta be kidding me."
"I do not kid," Nyxen snapped, voice dropping like cold metal. "Two millimeters now will become two centimeters later. Adjust."
John let out a groan that was half exasperation, half laugh. "Man, you're like a nagging wife with a laser pointer."
Leon almost choked trying not to laugh. He leaned against the bench, arms crossed, watching like it was the best theater show he'd ever seen.
Nyxen pulsed dangerously. "Do not compare me to human spousal dynamics."
"Oh, excuse me," John muttered, rolling his eyes as he nudged the rod the tiniest bit over. "Better? Or should I call NASA to confirm?"
Nyxen scanned again, a long hum vibrating through the shop. "Acceptable."
John sighed, muttering, "Finally," and flicked on the cutter. Sparks screamed, steel shrieking as the blade tore through.
Nyxen's voice cut through the noise like an overseer. "Steady speed. No deviation. Your left hand is drifting."
John bared his teeth in a grimace. "If you don't stop staring at my left hand, I swear-"
"Do you prefer the rod to snap under stress and collapse your framework?"
"I prefer not being micromanaged by a floating nightlight!" John barked, sparks spraying dangerously close to his sleeves.
Leon burst out laughing. He couldn't hold it anymore, the sound echoing loud and full in the workshop. "Oh, this is priceless."
John turned his glare on him, sweat running down his temple. "Don't you dare laugh. You've had him riding your back this whole time and didn't warn me?"
Leon grinned so wide it almost hurt, clutching his stomach. "Warn you? Hell no. Do you know how good it feels seeing someone else suffer under his perfectionist crap?"
"Perfection is not crap," Nyxen snapped automatically, zipping over to hover right above John's shoulder. "Raise the blade two degrees. No, two point five."
John's jaw tightened. "If I sneeze, will you tell me the optimal angle for that too?"
"Yes."
Leon doubled over, wheezing laughter spilling out of him. "God, John, welcome to my world. Finally! Finally someone else knows what it's like."
John switched off the cutter and threw his hands up. "I swear, Leon, you've been living like this? With a talking calculator breathing down your neck?"
Leon was red-faced, tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. "Every damn day. And you have no idea how satisfying this is to watch."
Nyxen, utterly unbothered, floated back toward the freshly cut rod, scanning it with surgical precision. "Margin of error: zero point zero eight. Acceptable. Barely."
John stared at him, deadpan. "You're lucky you don't have a body, or I'd throw you out of this workshop myself."
"Impossible," Nyxen replied coolly. "I am integrated."
Leon leaned back against the bench, still shaking with laughter. "Don't fight it, John. You'll lose. I've been trying for months."
John groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. "Months? How are you still sane?"
Leon tilted his head, smirk crooked. "Who says I am?"
John blinked, then actually laughed, tired and disbelieving. "God help me, I'm in too deep already."
Nyxen, meanwhile, was already scanning the next rod. "Cut this one to thirty-two centimeters. And do not argue."
John let out a long-suffering groan as he grabbed the rod. "I hate you already."
"You'll thank me later," Nyxen replied, smug as ever.
Leon's chuckles filled the shop, sharp and unrelenting. "Oh man… this is the best day of my life."
John was still fighting with the cutter, muttering curses like it was his mortal enemy, while Nyxen hovered over his shoulder barking instructions.
"No, measure twice, then cut. That's crooked by half a degree!"
"Are you serious?!" John shot back.
"Deadly serious. Crooked metal equals structural failure. Again."
I leaned against the wall, hiding a small smile as Leon chuckled openly beside me.
"Finally," he said, laughter shaking through his chest. "Finally, it's not me getting scolded."
The sparks of their bickering filled the workshop, bright, almost comforting, until my eyes caught on the stack of steel sheets propped against the far wall.
I walked toward them, pressing my palm lightly against the cold surface. Thick. Heavy. The kind of metal you didn't use for toys.
"What about these?" I asked, turning my head slightly. "What would you need… for something like a door reinforcement?"
The sound of the cutter stopped. Even Nyxen froze mid-glow.
He left John instantly and hovered straight toward me. His voice, when it came, was stripped of its usual sass, precise, sharp, professional. "Two inches thick, minimum. Ballistic-grade alloys layered with composite. Frame reinforced with hydraulic locks. Integrated breach sensors. Automatic closure on threat detection."
Leon had gone still, too. I felt his eyes on me, heavy, searching.
"You're not just asking," he said slowly, almost accusing, "are you?"
I didn't answer him right away. My hand lingered against the steel, as if it could already shape itself into what I was picturing. I spoke softly, but I knew he heard every word.
"A home isn't safe just because it has walls. It's safe when those walls can't be broken."
Silence pressed down.
Nyxen tilted closer to me, like an advisor standing at attention. "She's correct. Such a design could withstand small arms fire and repeated force. Explosives would slow, not breach. It would buy time, time to secure escape, or to fight back."
I finally turned to Leon. His smirk from earlier was gone, jaw clenched tight, his whole body shifted into something harder. He wasn't laughing anymore. His gaze told me he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone: not theory. Not design. Home. Sylvie.
"We'll build it," he said after a beat, voice flat and steady, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. "Our home needs it."
Across the bench, John had frozen with the cutter still in hand, sparks dying at the edge of the blade. He looked between the three of us, me, Leon, Nyxen, with confusion flickering behind his wide eyes. He didn't ask what it meant. He didn't even try to joke. He just nodded once, lips pressed together, and turned back to the steel.
Sparks filled the silence, but the heaviness stayed lodged in the air, sinking deep into my chest.
Nyxen hovered close, his glow steady, serious in a way that stripped him of every ounce of smugness.
"Nyx," he said, voice low but firm, "tell me everything. Everything you want your house to be. What makes you feel safe. I'll lay out the blueprint with the correct materials. No compromises."
I drew in a breath. For a moment, I almost hesitated. Speaking it out loud felt like admitting weakness. But then Sylvie's face flickered across my mind, the way she curled against me at night, her tiny hand holding my shirt like even in sleep she feared the world would take me away.
So I started.
"A door," I said. "One that closes automatically when a threat is detected outside. Not just the door, every window, too. They all seal shut, lock, the moment danger appears."
As I spoke, Nyxen projected a shimmering outline midair, lines of light snapping into place, walls and frames adjusting with every word.
"And cameras," I added, sharper now. "Outside. But not visible. Optic lenses that can zoom, track movement. Controlled by you."
"Done," Nyxen said instantly, blueprint shifting as microscopic symbols lit up along the walls. His glow pulsed brighter, the golden lines reflecting in my eyes. "All entrances reinforced. Threat detection mapped. Surveillance hidden but total. Integrated into me, no delay, no blind spots."
The sparks in my mind caught fire. My voice came faster now, overlapping with his projections.
"Hydraulic locks...quiet ones. Sensors that differentiate between weather, animals, and people. Emergency manual overrides in case of power failure. And layered alerts. Not just alarms, but silent signals if I need them."
"Yes." His voice was steady, matching my pace without pause. "Yes to all of it."
By the time I stopped, the air between us was filled with the skeletal glow of a fortress disguised as a home. My home. Our home.
John had paused again at his bench, staring at the projection like it was science fiction come to life. He let out a low whistle. "Lady, that's… that's not a house. That's a bunker dressed as a villa."
Leon stood closer now, his arm brushing mine, his silence thick but sure. He didn't try to rein me in. He didn't laugh like earlier. He just watched, jaw tight, eyes darker than the steel around us, as if he wanted every word I said turned into reality yesterday.
And Nyxen? He was relentless. The moment John shook off his awe, Nyxen uploaded the new specifications onto his holographic list. The order for steel and composites doubled.
John blinked, then laughed nervously. "Well… guess this just went from a walk-in request to a full-on project. Don't worry...I'll get the rest cut. And if you don't wanna haul it, we'll deliver. Just give me the word."
Nyxen hummed, already dimming the glowing projection down into neat lists. "Agreed. Delivery will do. But first priority stays Nyx-One. The house can come after."
I exhaled slowly, my fingers curling and uncurling against my palm. Safe. For once, I could almost see it, safety not as an illusion, but as walls and steel and light.
And I knew, because he said it like a vow, that Nyxen wouldn't let me lose it.
Nica's arms didn't falter once as she carried the sheets, posture perfect like she was in some silent competition to remind Leon exactly who the stronger one was. His jaw flexed, his hand still lingering on the cart handle as if sheer stubbornness could wrestle the metal back from her.
Before he could say something reckless, I stepped forward.
"Here, Nica...let me take Sylvie."
Her gaze flicked to me, her head tilting in that soft mimic of consideration she'd perfected. Then she carefully transferred Sylvie into my arms, freeing both hands to carry the load.
"Ehnk you, Mama," Sylvie chirped, tucking her face against my shoulder.
That tiny voice was enough to break the tension, but I didn't miss the way Leon's shoulders sagged in relief. At least now he didn't have to watch his pride crushed alongside his spine.
Nyxen floated closer, his glow dimming to a teasing simmer.
"Damage control," he murmured, voice rich with amusement. "Wise move, Nyx. Leon's ego can only withstand so many diagnostics in one afternoon."
Leon snapped a glare at him. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Obviously," Nyxen replied, twirling lazily in the air.
By the time we made it to the counter, Leon had wrestled his expression back into something neutral. He set the payment down firmly, like the act itself was proof he was still in charge here.
John peeked over the register, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Tell you what, for all this? I'll knock off twenty percent. Call it a friend's discount."
"No," Leon said immediately, his tone clipped.
John blinked. "What do you mean no?"
"It's business," I added gently, bouncing Sylvie on my hip when she giggled at the sound of the bell jingling in the background. "Friends or not, you're running a shop. We came here to buy materials, so we'll pay for what we bought. Properly."
John frowned, trying again. "But-"
Leon cut him off, his voice steady this time. "This is how we support you, John. Not by shaving off the bill. By paying it. Every cent."
For once, Nyxen didn't sass him. He hummed low, approving, while Nica set the sheets down with mechanical grace beside us.
John finally sighed, shaking his head like he'd lost a small battle. But the spark in his eyes said otherwise. "You two," he muttered, pointing between me and Leon, "are impossible."
I smiled. "Maybe. But we're consistent."
John laughed then, the tension breaking, and started bagging the smaller cut-outs with renewed energy.
And as Sylvie clapped her little hands against my collarbone, babbling something only half-comprehensible, I felt Leon's arm brush against mine, silent, grateful, and grounding.
John slid the last bundle across the counter, then extended his hand toward Leon. His palm was rough from work, but his smile was easy.
"If you ever need someone to help cut the heavy stuff for your… what did you call it, the bunker project? Just give me a call. I'll come running."
Before Leon could answer, Nyxen swooped down between them, his glow flashing bright like a siren.
"I will," he said, his voice cutting clean and absolute.
The air froze for half a beat. None of us moved. Even John just blinked, as if processing the fact that he'd just had his offer personally accepted by a hovering orb.
Then John's grin spread ear to ear, boyish and wild. "Holy hell. I'll take it. Officially recruited by the future."
Leon exhaled hard through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it with one hand. But Nyxen, of course, didn't let the moment settle in peace.
"And," he added smoothly, "I'd rather have you on cutting duty anyway, John. Your precision percentage is significantly higher than Leon's."
My husband froze mid-motion.
"…Excuse me?"
John burst out laughing, his whole frame shaking as he clapped Leon's shoulder. "Oh my god, he roasted you with math."
Nyxen's glow pulsed smugly. "Numbers don't lie."
Leon muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse, but even I couldn't help laughing as Sylvie clapped her sticky hands in rhythm with John's amusement.
Nica only tilted her head, calm as ever. "Objectively, the orb is correct."
That earned her a scandalized look from Leon, which made me laugh harder.
And just like that, we left the shop lighter than we came in, arms full of metal, Sylvie babbling in my embrace, Leon sulking beside me, and Nyxen practically glowing smug enough to light the way home.