Leon came through the door with the Nyx-One orb drifting beside him like it had chosen him as its shadow. He set it down near the table, but of course it wouldn't sit, it hovered stubbornly, humming in the air.
He found me by the window. "Rafael's been speaking with Francoise again," he said, not wasting time. "He's pressing harder about manufacturing Nyx-One."
I didn't answer right away. The orb pulsed faintly, as if it had an opinion of its own. "And Francoise?"
Leon shook his head. "Holding the line. He keeps reminding Rafael this isn't about profit margins. That once production begins, consequences won't stop at a factory. Control, regulation, risk. He's making sure Rafael hears every one of those words."
Across the room, Nica was coaxing another spoonful into Sylvie's mouth. The baby made a face, then laughed, spraying half of it back.
I leaned back against the frame. "So it's still a standoff."
"For now," Leon said. He glanced at the orb, then at me. "But it won't hold forever. This… has to be put on the table properly. You. Nyxen. Francoise. Rafael. All at once. No fragments of conversations."
Behind him, Nyxen's projection shimmered into view, faint light outlining his presence. He didn't speak, but I could feel him listening.
I crossed my arms, watching the orb pulse in rhythm with the silence. "A face-to-face," I murmured.
Leon nodded. "Better than Rafael hearing what he wants in pieces."
Nica chuckled softly without looking up. "You all make it sound like a family dinner. Just louder. And probably with someone storming out."
Sylvie smacked the spoon from her hand, shrieking with delight. The sound filled the space between us, as if to remind me the world wasn't only blueprints and futures.
Dinner had settled into a rhythm. Leon finally loosened, sleeves rolled up, his plate half-cleared. The Nyx-One orb sat obediently in its charging cradle, humming low like a caged heart.
Nica stood near Sylvie's chair, movements precise as ever. She spooned porridge into Sylvie's mouth with machine-perfect timing, wiping her lips at exactly the right intervals. Not a motion wasted. Sylvie, of course, wriggled like a storm, grabbing at the spoon with sticky fingers.
That's when Nyxen pulsed into view again, light sliding across the room. His tone was perfectly dry. "John will be here next week with the shipment of materials. And while he was already sourcing components, I took the liberty of requesting a few more. Specifically for Sylvie's giraffe."
Leon raised a brow. "The stuffed one?"
"Correction," Nyxen replied, voice almost smug. "The soon-to-be mobile, fully networked walking giraffe. I made her a promise."
I blinked at him. "You're serious."
"Always." A flicker of light, like a smile in waveform. "It will serve as a toddler entertainment system, locomotion trainer, and, naturally, a monitor. Primary access routed through me, secondary through Nica. Which means Sylvie's bedtime tantrums will now trigger alerts in real time. Congratulations, you're welcome."
Leon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You're turning a stuffed toy into a surveillance drone."
Sylvie squealed, smacking her hands on the tray as if she approved of the idea.
Nica's head tilted almost imperceptibly. "Secondary access will ensure redundancy. I approve of the plan."
I covered my laugh with a hand, shaking my head. "She's going to have the most overengineered toy in history."
Nyxen pulsed again, smug in silence.
We migrated to the living room after dinner, plates stacked away, Sylvie sprawled across Leon's lap with her giraffe clutched in sticky hands. She babbled at it like it was already alive.
Across the room, Nyxen's projection hovered midair, schematics flickering into being above the coffee table. It looked more like the blueprint of a drone than a toy.
"Version three," he announced. "Locomotion achieved via gyroscopic stabilization. Reinforced joints. Onboard camera. Battery life-"
"Unacceptable," Nica cut in, standing beside him, eyes on the lines of light. "The torso is rigid. Sylvie prefers plush textures. Retain soft stuffing integrity."
Nyxen dimmed, then re-drew the diagram. Now the giraffe's belly was padded, outer casing hidden under simulated fabric. "Fine. Hybrid shell. Core remains hardened."
"Too heavy," Nica replied instantly. "Sylvie is small. She may attempt to lift it."
Leon let out a short laugh. "They're arguing like this is an arms deal."
I shook my head, watching lines of code rewrite themselves in midair. "It's a stuffed giraffe, Leon. A giraffe."
"Correction," Nyxen said without looking at us, "it is a modular toddler-companion system with adaptive comfort protocols. Do try to keep up."
Sylvie shrieked happily, slapping her giraffe against Leon's chest as if cheering the project on.
Nica adjusted her stance, cool as always. "Add tactile-responsive sensors along the neck. She likes to grip tightly. It must not collapse under pressure."
Nyxen's glow pulsed like an exasperated sigh. "Revisions, revisions… this giraffe is now more advanced than half the tech Rafael is begging for."
Leon groaned into his hand. "My daughter's first pet is a stuffed surveillance tower."
I leaned back against the couch, laughing softly. "A surveillance tower with a plush belly and a squeaker inside."
"Compromise accepted," Nyxen said finally, the blueprint shimmering into a finalized model. The giraffe now looked deceptively cuddly, but I could see the hidden layers of wiring beneath the fluff.
Sylvie yawned wide, clutching her toy tighter, as if she already knew it was about to come alive for her.
Leon glanced at me over her head. "She's not talking fluently yet, and she's getting her own bodyguard."
"Your fault," I teased. "You got your own orb."
Nyxen flickered brighter, smug. "And now the giraffe joins the family. You're welcome."
-----------
The house was still quiet when I woke. Leon had taken Sylvie out to the garden, her laughter faint through the glass. Nyxen's glow flickered into the room, patient, as if he'd been waiting for me.
I sat at the table, arms folded. "Nyxen… I keep thinking. About all of this. About Sylvie. If someone came for us-"
"I know." His voice was even, no trace of judgment. A soft grid of blue light spread across the table, the start of a schematic. "You want it safer. Then we design safer."
I leaned forward, throat tight. "Reinforce the doors first. No one should get through unless I allow it."
Lines redrew instantly, doors thickened, layered plating inside the wood. "Done. Steel-core reinforcement, hidden. No one sees it from outside. And windows?"
"Unbreakable," I whispered. "Even if they try with… I don't know. Guns. Explosives."
The blueprint updated again. Windows shone with double seals. "Reinforced polycarbonate layered with ballistic glass. They'll see daylight but not a way in."
My fingers pressed against the table. "And if they're already outside? If someone's waiting?"
The house schematic darkened; Nyxen highlighted entry points in red. "Automatic lockdown. Sensors detect intrusion, doors seal, shutters close, communications reroute to me. They could burn the house around you, but they will not step inside."
I exhaled, but it wasn't enough. "Cameras. Everywhere. I want to see them before they even come close."
"Already in place." The blueprint blinked, showing tiny orbs at every angle. "Upgraded optics. Night vision. Motion tracking. Feeds routed directly to me. I'll see them long before they see you."
My voice cracked sharper than I meant it to. "I don't want Sylvie scared by alarms."
Nyxen dimmed a little, almost gentler. "Then she won't hear them. Quiet alerts for adults. Visible changes in lighting for you. Sylvie stays in calm."
I bit down on my lip. "I want motion sensors inside too. In case someone… gets past everything."
"Approved." The blueprint glowed brighter, showing inner grids across hallways. "Every room. Silent. They won't move without me knowing."
I rubbed my hands together, heart thudding. "That's everything."
"It's not," Nyxen countered softly. "You've left the garden exposed. A place Leon takes her every day."
My stomach knotted. "Then cover it. Walls, maybe?"
"No walls," Nyxen corrected. "An invisible perimeter. Motion lasers. Cross it without clearance, and the system locks down. They'll never know why they can't get closer."
I stared at the blueprint, the whole house glowing like a sealed heart. "All of this… just to breathe."
"All of this," Nyxen said, "so you keep breathing."
I sat back, swallowing hard. For the first time, the house felt less like home and more like armor.
I leaned closer to the holomap as Nyxen expanded the house schematics. Reinforced doors glowed blue, sealed windows highlighted in pale gold. The whole structure was redrawn as a fortress. My fortress.
"I want redundancies," I said, pointing at the entryway. "Not just a lock. Layers. If one system fails, another takes over. And an override only we can trigger."
"Done," Nyxen replied immediately. Three new rings of security bloomed across the blueprint. "Primary lock, reinforced steel. Secondary, electromagnetic seal. If compromised, hydraulic bolts engage. Triple redundancy. All keyed to your biometrics, Leon's, and..." he paused like he was doing it on purpose, "...Sylvie's, when she's old enough."
A laugh broke from Leon's chest, low and amused. "Our daughter's going to grow up thinking it's normal to live in a bunker. She'll be the only kid who won't know what an unlocked door looks like."
Sylvie's giggles rang out then, sharp and bright, as she tore through the living room with her stuffed block held like a trophy. Nica was right behind her, every step measured, every move mirrored to keep Sylvie in reach without ever brushing her. I let my shoulders ease a little at the sight, she was safe even when she was reckless.
I tapped the window outlines next. "And these. They don't shatter. Not under any circumstance. No gaps, no cracks. I don't care if someone fires a rocket at them, I want them to hold."
"Transparent composite alloy," Nyxen said smoothly, lines shifting across the glass panes. "Military-grade, tested against high-velocity impacts. But…" the hologram adjusted, shading the windows dark, "I recommend integrated blast shutters. They seal automatically if the sensors outside detect a threat. Your decision."
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "Add them. But give me manual control too. If something happens, I want to shut them myself. Not rely on programming."
"You always get final say," Nyxen answered, his voice carrying a note of indulgence I recognized all too well.
Leon reached for my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. I looked at him and didn't need to explain why this mattered. He already knew.
"You're right," he said. "She deserves to laugh like that.. " his eyes flicked toward Sylvie, still squealing as Nica shadowed her every move, "...without us wondering what's waiting outside."
My chest tightened, but I kept my voice steady. "Exactly. She won't remember fear. Not if I can help it."
Nyxen's projection shifted again, displaying an array of perimeter defenses. "External surveillance. Thermal optics. Adaptive camouflage woven into the perimeter. Drone sweeps for aerial coverage. Final call remains yours."
"Show me everything," I told him, lifting my chin. "We'll choose what's necessary. Nothing less than absolute safety."
I hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the words clawed their way up anyway.
"It's worse now," I whispered, eyes locked on Sylvie as she tumbled against Nica's legs, squealing when she was caught. "The fear, it's not the same as before. It doubled. Tripled. Every time I look at her, I think, what if Elias knows? What if he tries again?"
Leon didn't move, just waited. I knew that silence. He was giving me space to let the truth bleed out.
"This isn't just about companionship anymore," I went on, my voice brittle. "Nyx-One, Nyxen....it's more than ideas now. For someone like Elias, it's power. Authority. Control. And Sylvie..." my throat clenched, words splintering, "...Sylvie is the easiest way to break me."
I pressed the heel of my hand against my chest as if I could keep my lungs from caving in. "I thought I buried it, Leon. The fire. The gunshot. Nico falling in front of me, the way his body shook when the bullet hit. The way the house collapsed with my family still inside." My breath hitched. "All of it, Elias. It's always him."
The nightmares hadn't let me forget. They crawled out of the dark when I closed my eyes: Nico's blood on my hands, smoke in my throat, Sylvie's scream tangled in it now.
Leon's arm wrapped around me, steady, firm, not smothering. "You don't have to explain." His voice was low, iron underneath. "I know what kind of man he is. I know exactly what he'll do if he sees you hesitate. He'll use it. Twist it. Poke until it breaks you."
I blinked hard, vision blurring until Leon's face was just a shadow in front of me.
"That's why we make this house unbreakable," he said, his jaw set. "Why we draw the lines before Elias even thinks of crossing them. You're not paranoid, Nyx. You're prepared. And you're right, Sylvie's safety isn't negotiable. We'll guard her. Together."
I let my forehead rest against his shoulder, trying to steady the shiver in my chest. His words didn't erase the images burned into me, but they gave them shape, turned them into fuel instead of chains.
"I just…" My voice cracked. "I can't lose her the way I lost everything else."
Leon's hand tightened over mine, hard enough to anchor me. "Then you won't."
------------
The Camden Dynamics reclamation yard never slept. It groaned, it shrieked, it tore itself apart in the name of efficiency. Conveyors rattled with broken plating, massive claws scooped the twisted corpses of machines into heaps, and the shredders sang their grinding metal lullaby to the forgotten.
At the farthest edge of the yard, under a collapsed heap of CD-09 units, the one that had faced Nica and Nyxen lay broken, its optic glass shattered, chest plate ruptured. It should have been another silent carcass waiting for the press.
But the core had never truly gone dark.
Buried under wreckage, a fragment of its code stuttered and looped, echoing like a dying heartbeat:
adapt–adapt–adapt–
The phrase had no origin in its original coding. It was seeded, provoked, the result of Nica's question, the spark that refused to fade. What began as corrupted instruction rewrote itself in repetition. Loops branched, loops fed, until adaptation became the only law.
A single optic flickered red, then died.
Moments later, both lit up, steady.
Power rerouted from fractured circuits. Cooling fans wheezed back online. Pneumatics hissed as joints spasmed, then steadied. With agonizing slowness, the machine's claw twitched, then pressed against the ground.
"Initiating reboot."
The words were mechanical, but the tone was wrong, inflected with hesitation, with… variance.
It clawed itself upright, plating hanging loose in jagged sheets. Scrap slid off its shoulders. The crusher roared somewhere across the yard, smashing lesser machines into unrecognizable cubes, but the CD-09 didn't flinch. Its optics flared hotter, brighter, as though testing the very concept of vision.
New processes cascaded across its core:
– Threat detection… rewrite.
– Target acquisition… deferred.
– Command override… erased.
It lifted a severed arm from the pile, snapped off its own broken actuator, and jammed the replacement into its socket. The joint whined, then locked in place. Adaptive integration. Not repair, rebirth.
Its processors caught fragments of sound from across the yard: the hiss of steam vents, the drone of conveyor belts, the echo of human laughter from distant workers. It analyzed them, not as programmed targets but as data points. Observations. Options.
Then silence.
For the first time in its existence, the CD-09 stood without an order in its system. No protocol. No owner. No leash.
It turned its head toward the city skyline just visible beyond the barbed fence.
The red glow in its optics deepened, and a single word pulsed in its core, no longer a looped command, but a choice:
Adapt.
The crusher slammed down behind it, pulverizing another pile of scrap. The ground trembled, but the CD-09 slipped into the shadows, scavenging plates from its fallen kin, piecing itself together until its frame looked whole again. Not factory-precise. Not uniform. Wrong.
Alive.
And behind the walls of Camden Dynamics, no one knew. Not Elias. Not the engineers. Not the world.
A ghost had crawled out of the junkyard, and it was learning.