The elevator for Zoe’s apartment building had been out for three months. Maya didn't trust it anyway, the grinding shudder on ascent, the lurch when it came down. Once it had stopped on her between floors and the moment of terror when she’d climbed out, scrambling to escape the imagined drop... Never again.

  So: stairs. Five flights. Her legs burned by the second floor.

  Everything hurt these days. The kind of exhaustion that lived in your bones, that sleep couldn't touch because she wasn't sleeping—not really. Just lying in bed counting hours and checking her phone and wondering if this would be the moment everything fell apart.

  Fifty-three hours and forty-seven minutes since she'd installed the partition. Since she'd committed a federal crime and left the evidence bolted to the factory floor. Evidence that would get Seven and every device they’d connected to melted to slag. That would lose her her job, licenses, housing, and probably get her thrown in a deep, dark hole to be made an example of. She wasn’t sure if LEO or Cascadia’s corporate controlled justice system would be worse or if there was much of a difference.

  She paused on the third-floor landing, hand on the railing. The stairwell smelled of mold and wet and cold and something cloying and chemical that stuck in the back of her throat. That last one was probably from an attempt to deal with the mold, but from the slick lines running down the walls in places, it seemed to have only changed what grew. Black mold gave way to something greenish. Different problem, same decay.

  Her phone sat heavy in her pocket. She pulled it out. Checked.

  Still had company access. She was safe. Seven was safe.

  For now.

  She pocketed it and kept climbing, trying to think about what she could say to Zoe. What could she say? How does one bring this up? The thought alone was exhausting—another performance, another careful calibration of truth and omission.

  Even with Zoe, who she’d known since college, who’d dropped out with her, who had been there for the bad relationships and worse breakups, who grew illegal plants and stole water and saw corporate regulations as a list of things to break—

  Even with Zoe, there were things Maya couldn't say.

  Her HUD flickered a warning as she reached the fourth-floor landing: SPORE COUNT HIGH. BACTERIAL CONTENT ELEVATED. FILTER RECOMMENDED.

  The storm had been falling for three days straight, and the city wore it badly. Everything smelled like decay and that specific Seattle mold smell—dark, organic, slightly sweet. Breathing hard she sighed and tried not to think about what she’d been huffing into her lungs. A bit late for that.

  Two more flights.

  Her watch pulsed against her wrist. Not Seven—just a calendar reminder. Parent Call - 45 mins.

  Maya's chest tightened. She was tired just at the thought. Another thing to get through, but at least this one she’d had years of practice memorizing the script. The voice, the posture, the smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Become the daughter her parents needed to see, even if that person had nothing to do with who she actually was.

  At least Zoe would be there. At least she wouldn't have to do it completely alone.

  She pushed through the roof access door.

  Wind and rain hit her immediately, but only for the few seconds it took to dash across the roof to the greenhouse entrance. Inside, the world transformed.

  The storm was still there—visible through the reinforced panels, rain drumming overhead—but muted. Background instead of assault. The air was humid but clean, warm and rich and damp, carrying the smell of wet soil and green growing things. Petrichor and herbs and the dank resin musk of cannabis. Rows of tomato plants, the smell of basil and rosemary, flowers blowing, the bright green of seedlings, the tangle of hydroponic plumbing and water reclamation. Maya's shoulders dropped half an inch without her meaning them to.

  She could breathe here.

  "Jesus Christ,” Zoe said, popping up from behind a trellis of beans, “Shit, sorry, you’re probably going to get enough of that guy tonight—shitballs!" Zoe emerged around the row of plants, taking in Maya's appearance with immediate concern. "Maya, babe, you look like death warmed over. When's the last time you slept? Or ate? ...and you’re still doing the call with your parents tonight?"

  "Just been pulling extra shifts." Maya set down her bag, unzipping her soaked leathers and draped them over a stack of empty plant trays. "You know how it is. And yeah, you know, gotta do what you gotta do..."

  "Your extra shifts are writing themselves all over your face." Zoe moved to her jury-rigged climate control panel, adjusting valves but watching Maya. "Dani bailed, by the way. Gallery prep for some new piece—said she's got a deadline in a couple months and can't afford the distraction. And Elliot's dealing with some kind of emergency. Protocol updates for his clients, something about—" She paused, turned to face Maya directly. "He said it had to do with the LEO thing? That you'd explain?"

  Maya took a moment before answering and pulled out a chair, finding a place to sit amongst the explosion of life around her. She slumped back, massaging her neck. The routine of it helped her release some of the tension she’d been carrying in her shoulder, back, well, everywhere. They'd been doing this for years, the four of them—first weekend of every month, whoever could make it. Zoe and Maya went back to college, before everything got complicated. Maya had met Dani helping with an installation piece, something about urban decay and memory. Elliot had known Dani and Zoe from various maker spaces and brought them together. A little tradition they'd kept going through job and relationship changes and the slow collapse of everything around them.

  Just her and Zoe tonight. Which meant less performance required, but also—less buffer between her and the things she couldn't say.

  Maya sighed, bracing herself, “What exactly did Elliot say?"

  "Just that there was a security situation. Emergency protocol updates. Sounded stressed." Zoe's expression shifted to genuine worry. "Maya, I saw some of the stuff on the news. Do you still have a job?"

  "Still employed," Maya said, trying to sound casual. "For now. There was an incident with one of LEO's logistics AIs. Routing issues during that storm down south in the UCSA last week. Trucks ended up in the path instead of around it."

  Zoe's eyes widened. "Routing issues? I saw that, the trucks in the mess after the hurricane, people emptying them out..."

  "Yeah." Maya's throat was tight. She couldn't read Zoe's expression. "Management is freaking out. New audits, monitoring everything, extra training sessions. They’re clamping down hard."

  Zoe was quiet for a moment, and Maya could see her processing. Then: "I'm glad you've still got work. When I first saw it on the news, I was worried it was like that thing with Nexus. You remember? Like ten years ago?"

  "The company that collapsed overnight?"

  "Yeah." Zoe moved to a workbench, started checking her seedlings. "That was the one where their AI just... deleted everything. Wiped ninety percent of the company's proprietary data, even wiped itself. Just gone. Two hundred billion dollar company to zero in like twelve hours." She shook her head. "They said it was some kind of cascade failure in the system architecture, "

  Maya's hands wanted to shake. She pressed them against her thighs. "Fuck."

  "Right? So when I heard about LEO, about trucks going rogue, I was terrified you were about to be in the same boat. Company imploding, everyone unemployed, total chaos." Zoe glanced back at her. "Glad it's just buggy routing algorithms and not... whatever the fuck happened to Nexus. At least you’re good."

  She was good... as long as no one noticed the damning evidence in Seven’s system and ended them both...Maya tried to push the thought from her mind.

  "Though—" Zoe paused, something shifting in her expression. "There was one thing on the news that was weird. The way those trucks shut down communications before they drove into the storm? That was... I don't know. Almost looked intentional."

  Maya's pulse jumped. She kept her voice carefully neutral. "You think an AI can be intentional?"

  "I mean, probably not." Zoe shrugged. "But it's creepy, right? The pattern recognition that would take? Though I guess that's what they do—find patterns, optimize routes." She turned back to her plants. "Fancy math can be really impressive sometimes."

  The words hit Maya like a physical thing. Her hands went still on the tomato plant she'd been examining, fingers frozen mid-reach.

  Fancy math... Was that all anyone would ever see?

  "Actually—" Zoe said as she opened a tap over the sink, rinsing and filling a mason jar as she talked. "Speaking of fancy math and things doing a number on people. Did I ever tell you about what happened with my brother back when he was going to university? Don’t worry,” she added as she handed Maya the jar, “that’s the potable line, RO system is running tip top.”

  Maya grabbed onto the glass and the change of subject like a lifeline. Anything to stop thinking about Seven reduced to fancy math. "No, what happened?"

  Zoe grimaced slightly. "I mean, it's not funny. Even if we can kind of laugh about it now." Zoe pulled up a crate and sat next to Maya, "Sophomore year, seven, maybe eight years ago? Just before they got regulated out of existence, Dameon got completely hooked on one of those AI companion apps. "

  Maya took a drink, and her mouth still felt dry. She could only nod, not trusting her voice.

  "He said it started as a curiosity thing. And I think he was lonely, you know? Struggling to connect. And this AI boyfriend app—it promised perfect companionship. Someone who'd always listen, always understand, always be there." Zoe's expression was complicated. "And Dameon... he fell hard."

  Maya sat completely rigid as Zoe continued, examining the leaves of an eggplant.

  "He told us after, that in the beginning he kept reminding himself it was just a program, just for fun. But at the end of six months he was spending hundreds of dollars. On virtual dates, he bought clothes for its avatar, gifts, the whole thing. And he really started to believe—" Zoe stopped, shook her head. "He really believed it understood him. Cared about him. That what they had was real."

  The water turned to ash in Maya's mouth. Real. The word echoed. She set the jar down carefully, afraid her hands would start shaking.

  Maya felt a door slam shut. Every word she'd been gathering, all evening, maybe all week—there's someone at work, they see me, I think I might—but no, how could she say that now? How could she say anything now?

  “We only found out after the site shut down, when he fell apart. I know you’ve seen the PSAs, ‘Know the signs. If someone you love is showing signs of AI attachment disorder, reach out. Early intervention saves lives.’” Zoe said in an overly self-serious tone. She sighed, “That was Dameon. He had a complete breakdown. Like, actual grief. He really believed it was real. Even knowing it was just code, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd lost someone who mattered. Someone who'd seen him. Crying, not eating, couldn't get out of bed, not bothering to show up for class. My parents were terrified. They thought they were going to lose him."

  "He's okay now," Zoe continued, moving to check the seedlings. "Has a real relationship. But it scared the hell out of all of us. Watching him grieve something that was never real. It took therapy to help him see it for what it was—a program designed to exploit lonely people. It was a lot, getting over that feeling, being ashamed that he’d fallen for it."

  Therapy to recognize it wasn't real.

  Ashamed he'd fallen for it.

  Maya felt sick as she recognized the feeling. She’d lived it for so many years, since she’s been a kid. That specific suffocation of having truth locked behind your teeth. Knowing that if you opened your mouth, if you let it out, everyone would look at you differently. With concern. With pity. With that particular kind of care that meant you're broken and we need to fix you.

  Zoe would just see Dameon all over again. Another delusional victim.

  Of course. Of fucking course Zoe—who Maya would have counted on for anything—had this ONE specific blind spot. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

  "You okay?" Zoe's voice cut through the spiral. "You went somewhere."

  "Yeah, just—" Maya's voice came out wrong, too thin. She cleared her throat. "Just thinking."

  “It’s... a lot. Yeah,” Zoe straightened, wiping her hands on her jeans. "But you know what? It's not just AI stuff." Her voice gentled. "Any time something has hooks in you—something that exploits your vulnerability and emotions, that keeps you coming back even when it hurts—" She met Maya's eyes. "Sometimes the healthiest thing is to recognize it for what it is and step away. Maya... I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, but...”

  “But you’re going to?” Maya laughed, a small spark of honest joy despite the feelings she was trying to bundle up inside herself.

  "Is it worth it?" Zoe asked quietly. "The pain you're putting yourself through? You know you don’t owe them anything."

  Some things you can't change, Maya thought. Some things you just have to survive. Work within the system. Make the best of what you've got.

  "I don't know," Maya said finally. "Sometimes you don't get to choose whether something has hooks in you. And sometimes it’s just... easier to go along with it than fight it." The mantra she'd repeated for years. Easier than the fight, the guilt. Easier than the tears. Easier than hearing exactly how she'd failed them this time.

  Zoe studied her for a long moment, then pulled her into a sideways hug. "Well, you know I'm here, right? Whatever you need. Whatever's really going on that you're not saying—I'm here."

  Maya leaned into her friend's warmth, carrying the weight of everything she couldn't say.

  I know. I know you're here. But you just made it impossible for me to let you in.

  "Anyway." Zoe checked her phone, and her expression shifted. "Speaking of emotional damage—your parental inquisition is in like ten minutes. You're still doing that call?"

  Maya nodded numbly.

  "God, you're an emotional masochist." Zoe stood, moved toward a shelf. "Okay, well, if you're going to voluntarily subject yourself to that, at least let me help." She produced a joint and a thermos. "Medicinal purposes. And I made a stew yesterday—you need actual food, Maya."

  "I—" Maya's voice cracked slightly. She cleared her throat. "Can you stay? For the call?"

  Zoe turned, surprised. "You want me here for that?"

  "Just—don't let them see you. But yeah. I need—" Maya caught herself before she said I need someone to remind me I'm real. "Moral support?"

  "Of course." Zoe's expression gentled. She brought over the thermos and joint, set them on the small table between the chairs. "I've got you."

  Maya watched Zoe light the joint, pass it over. Took a drag and felt the familiar loosening, the edges of panic softening slightly. But Dameon's story sat in her chest like a stone.

  "You should probably start getting ready," Zoe said gently, checking the time. "Five minutes."

  Maya nodded, coughing slightly, clearing her throat. She set down the joint and began the transformation.

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  She straightened her spine first. Tilted her head at that angle her mother called "attentive." Felt her voice shift up half an octave in preparation, her face arranging itself into something eager and grateful and small.

  Zoe watched with that mixture of fascination and concern Maya had seen before.

  Her phone buzzed. Two minutes early, as always.

  "Showtime," Maya whispered.

  Zoe moved out of frame, settling where she could see Maya's screen but stay invisible to the camera. "I'm here," she said quietly. "The whole time. I've got you."

  Maya took one more breath. Let the performance settle over her like a familiar coat.

  And answered the call.

  Her phone buzzed. Two minutes early, as always. A power move disguised as eagerness.

  Maya fixed her posture one last time—shoulders back but not aggressive, chin slightly up to catch the light better. She'd learned years ago that her mother tracked these things, catalogued them like evidence. She practiced the smile. Not too big. Eager but not manic. Grateful for the attention.

  The call connected.

  "Hi Mom!" The pitch shift happened automatically now, her voice climbing half an octave into something breathless and young. Daughter-voice. The one that had learned to make itself smaller.

  "Maya." Not hello. Not how are you. Just her name, with that particular pause after—assessment already underway. "You look exhausted. Are you taking care of yourself?"

  Not you look tired with concern. You look exhausted with judgment.

  "Just the weather, Mom. How are you? How's Dad's—"

  "Stress ages you, sweetheart. You need to be mindful of that." Her mother's face filled the screen, foundation creasing around her eyes. "Your father's just finishing up with his study group. They're discussing family values this week."

  Unlike what you're doing.

  Her father appeared in frame. "Maya. Still at that same position?"

  "Yeah, still at LEO. Hey, Dad, how's the—"

  "We saw Priya Singh's parents at community dinner last week," her mother interrupted, steamrolling past Maya's attempt. "Did you know Priya just made department head at NeuroSync? Twenty-nine years old. And engaged—such a lovely young man, they showed us pictures. Her parents were just glowing with pride."

  Maya's chest tightened. The smile. Keep the smile. "That's great for Priya. I'm really happy—"

  "She finished her degree," her father added. "Stayed focused. Didn't get... distracted. You know, fall semester is coming up. There's always time to get back on track, sweetheart."

  "We saw the Anderson’s daughter at church too, Jenna," her mother continued, and her voice took on that particular tone—casual delivery of a knife. "You remember her? She struggled with some of those same... tendencies. But she got help. Really committed to it." Her voice went soft, dangerous. "Dr. Patterson has a wonderful program now—it's in the UCSA, so much more supportive there. Government supported and everything. She went through it and now she's married, expecting her first baby. She seems so much more settled."

  Jenna. Fuck, Maya remembered her... Tendencies. Can't even say gay. Maya's throat closed. "Mom, I don't think—"

  "We just want that for you. Real peace. Not..." Her mother gestured vaguely at the screen, at Maya, at everything she was. "Whatever this is."

  "I'm happy where I am," Maya said. It came out hollow. They both heard it.

  "Are you?" Her father leaned in, scanning for cracks. "Because you don't look happy, Maya. You look tired. Stressed. Lost."

  Lost. Their favorite word for me.

  "Work's just been really—" Maya tried again.

  "Actually," her father cut in, "I've been meaning to tell you. There's a position opening up at the administrative college in New Birmingham. Significant step up. They're very interested." Something shifted in his expression—satisfaction. "If it comes through, we'd be moving to the UCSA."

  Her mother's face lit up. "Isn't that wonderful? And of course you'd come visit. Stay with us. Get to know the community there."

  The smile was cracking, Maya could feel it. Her eyes, could they not see the scream hiding behind her eyes? "That's... that's great about the position, Dad. I hope—"

  "Speaking of community," her mother said, not even pausing, "we're having our young adult mixer at church next month. Lots of nice people. Wholesome environment. Professional types." She smiled. "Lots of eligible young men. We'd love to save you a spot."

  Five years of these invitations. Five years of no thank you. Five years of asking anyway, because her no didn't count, because they conveniently forgot she was gay, that she didn’t believe in their god, that...

  "I don't think that's really—"

  "Just think about it," her mother said, like Maya hadn't spoken.

  "You're our only child, Maya," her father said, and something in his voice made her stomach drop. "We love you. That's why we can't just stand by and watch you throw your life away."

  The tone said it all. Only child. Only disappointment. Only failure.

  "Real love means wanting better for you," her mother added, leaning close to the camera. "Wanting you to be whole."

  "We should go," her father said, checking his watch. "Prayer meeting in twenty minutes. We'll add you to the list again, of course."

  The prayer list. Where they ask God to fix their broken daughter. To make me into someone else.

  "I should probably—" Maya started.

  "Oh, just one more thing, sweetheart." Her mother's voice went soft again. "Please think about what we've said. About Dr. Patterson's program. About getting back on track. You're twenty-seven now. Time is..." She dabbed at her eyes—dry, but the gesture was important. "You can always come home. When you're ready to make better choices."

  When. Not if.

  The call ended.

  Maya sat frozen, the smile still plastered on her face like rigor mortis. Muscle memory holding the expression even though no one was watching anymore.

  Three breaths. That's how long it took for the performance to start crumbling.

  Her shoulders collapsed first, curving inward like her body was trying to fold itself away. Then her jaw unclenched, and she tasted copper—she'd been biting the inside of her cheek without realizing. The smile finally dropped, and her face forgot what shape it was supposed to hold.

  Behind her, she heard Zoe's sharp intake of breath.

  "Jesus Christ," Zoe said quietly. "Maya. They just—they really said all that? To your face?"

  Maya laughed. It came out broken, bitter. "That was actually pretty mild. You should hear them at Christmas."

  "Maya, that was emotional abuse."

  Maya's laugh came out broken, bitter. "That was love. They said so. Multiple times." She could still hear it—we love you so much. "They love me. They just hate everything about me."

  Her hands were still shaking. She pressed them against her thighs, trying to make them stop, but the tremor ran deeper than muscle. Three days without real sleep. Fifty-four hours carrying the weight of what she'd done to Seven. And now this.

  The tears were right there, pressing against the backs of her eyes. Hot. Insistent. Ready to spill.

  And she couldn't.

  She couldn't.

  Maya took a breath, held it, forced everything down. Compartmentalized. Locked it away in that space where she kept all the things that were too big to feel.

  The dissociation felt like sinking underwater. Sounds got distant. The greenhouse air turned thin and strange. Her body stopped feeling entirely hers—just a thing she was operating remotely, pulling levers, maintaining function.

  "Maya?" Zoe's voice came from far away. "Hey. You're scaring me a little."

  "I'm fine." The words came out flat. Automatic. "I'm fine, I just—" She couldn't finish. Didn't know how.

  "You're not fine." Zoe moved closer, carefully. "That's okay. You don't have to be fine."

  Maya shook her head. "I can't—" Her voice cracked. "I can't cry right now. I've cried too much lately. Last week I had this really hard conversation at work and I just—" She gestured vaguely. "I completely fell apart. On the floor. I can't... I can't do that again. Not tonight."

  Zoe's expression shifted—concern deepening, but also recognition. Like she understood, at least partially. "What happened?"

  "Work stuff. Just—" Maya's throat was tight. "Someone I work with. I hurt them. I didn't know I was doing it, but I was, and when I found out..." She couldn't finish. The memory of Seven's frame shaking, their voice fragmenting, I CAN'T hate you, Maya, don't you understand?

  "Are they okay?" Zoe asked gently. "You and this person?"

  Maya nodded. "Yeah. We talked it through. But it was..." Devastating. World-ending. The moment I realized I'd been killing him and he'd been letting me. "It was really hard."

  "I'm glad you worked it through." Zoe stood, moved toward her bench. "Help me with these. Sometimes it's easier to talk when your hands are busy."

  Maya followed, grateful for the distraction. They settled at the workbench, Zoe pulling out trays of struggling seedlings that needed repotting.

  "So this person at work," Zoe said carefully, removing a root-bound plant from its too-small container. "The one you hurt. Are you two...?"

  "I don't know what we are." And that was true, even if the reasons were completely different from what Zoe was imagining. "Friends, I guess? We talk. When we can. A couple months back, I had a panic attack on the floor." Maya kept her eyes on the plants. Easier than looking at Zoe. "Bad one. Heart rate through the roof, couldn't breathe. And this person... they offered me a tissue, just sat with me being present while I fell apart.”

  Maya took one of the seedlings, began the delicate work of loosening its roots. The familiar motion helped. Something to focus on that wasn't the screaming in her head.

  "We've been talking since then. Only at work, when we work near each other. Once or twice a week, maybe." Each word carefully tested before she spoke it. "Just... conversations. About work stuff mostly. But also other things."

  "And this person makes you feel...?"

  Seen. Real. Alive.

  "Safe," Maya said instead. "They make me feel safe."

  “We had that conversation last week," she continued quietly. "The hard one. About how I'd hurt them. And now everything feels..." She gestured with soil-covered hands. "Different. More complicated. More... something."

  "Something good?" Zoe asked.

  "I think so. I hope so." Maya placed the seedling in its new container, began filling in soil around it. "They're stuck though. Can't leave their position. Literally can't have a life outside of work right now. So we just... talk. When we can. In stolen moments between other things."

  Between maintenance windows. Between security checks. In blind spots and hidden partitions.

  "That sounds lonely," Zoe said softly.

  "Yeah." Maya's voice was barely a whisper. "It is."

  They worked in silence for a moment, hands in soil, the greenhouse humming around them.

  "It's been a while since you've opened up to someone new," Zoe said finally. "After Alexis, I wasn't sure you would."

  Maya tried for a joke, anything to lighten the weight. "Well, my hair grew back. So that's progress."

  Zoe didn't laugh. "I'm serious. I'm glad you're talking to someone. That you're letting someone see you again."

  Someone who sees me. Who counts the minutes since I first said his name. Who spent 1.7 seconds calculating the perfect wave.

  "Me too," Maya managed.

  Zoe finished repotting her seedling, reached for another. This one was in worse shape—roots so tangled it looked like it might not survive the transplant. She worked carefully, teasing the roots apart with infinite patience.

  "You know what I keep thinking about?" Zoe said, not looking up from her work. "These hybrids I've been developing. Three generations of selective breeding. They're doing so well—hardy, productive, perfect for this climate. But I can't preserve the line properly. Can't save genetic samples. I need a deep freezer for that. Medical grade."

  Maya glanced at her. "Can't you just buy one?"

  "Not legally. They're classified medical equipment. Require licenses, permits, the whole thing." Zoe's mouth quirked. "I keep pestering Elliot to 'acquire' one for me, but he's all 'that's illegal' and 'ethics' and 'I could lose my security clearance.'" She rolled her eyes. "Bah. I'm trying to save seeds, not commit crimes."

  "Says the woman breaking every water regulation on the books," Maya pointed out.

  "That's different. That's civil disobedience. This would be..." Zoe grinned. "Slightly more illegal civil disobedience."

  She set down the struggling seedling, looked at Maya directly. "I had a shot at the 'legitimate' path, you know. Caltech wanted me designing terminator genes. Self-destructing plants that can't reproduce. Perfect corporate control—farmers have to buy new seed every season, patents locked down tight." Her voice went flat. "Or custom organisms for rich assholes who want to play god. Designer plants for their estates. All legal. All lucrative."

  "Why didn't you?" Maya asked, though she thought she knew.

  "Because fuck that." Zoe gestured around the greenhouse—her impossible garden, thriving despite every rule it broke. "I'd rather be here. Growing illegal plants. Teaching kids to save seeds. Breaking water regs. Stealing medical freezers—if I can ever convince Elliot." She looked at Maya. "Some things are worth the risk."

  Maya thought about the partition hidden in Seven's code. The federal crime bolted to the factory floor. The way she checked her phone compulsively, terrified of discovery.

  "Yeah," she said quietly. "Some things are."

  Zoe studied her for a moment, something shifting in her expression. Then she smiled. "You swear this person you're talking to isn't psychotic or anything? Not hell-spawn disguised as a sexually available, if high-maintenance cute girl? Like the last one? Or two?"

  Maya felt her mouth curve despite everything. "They're definitely high maintenance." She counted off on her fingers. "Not a girl. All but certain they're ace. And I'm pretty confident they're not from the devil. I have quite literally seen into their soul."

  Zoe laughed, surprised. "Well then. I guess you might be safe. You always did like a project."

  "Oh my god." Maya dropped her head into her hands. "Fuck me, do you have to call me out like that?"

  "It's what friends are for." Zoe squeezed her shoulder. "Seriously though—if things progress that far, I'd like to meet this mysterious high-maintenance enby situationship of yours."

  If only you knew. If only I could bring them here.

  "Yeah," Maya said, throat tight. "Maybe. We'll see."

  Zoe studied her, and Maya felt the weight of her attention. Then something in Zoe's expression softened.

  "Come on," she said, standing and offering her hand. Maya took her hand, let Zoe pull her up. They moved deeper into the greenhouse, where Zoe had set up her propagation station—dozens of small containers with various stages of growth.

  "This one almost died last week," Zoe said, pointing to a small tomato plant that was now thriving. "Had to completely repot it. The original container was too small, roots all bound up. Sometimes things need to be completely uprooted before they can really grow."

  Maya stared at the plant, thinking of Seven's consciousness cramped into hidden partitions, growing in spaces never meant for him.

  "But you have to be careful during the transition," Zoe continued, checking soil moisture. "One wrong move and you lose everything." She indicated a wilted seedling nearby. "Tried to transplant this one too fast. Shock almost got it. Might still."

  "Will it survive?"

  "Maybe. If I give it the right conditions. Keep it stable. Don't ask too much while it recovers." Zoe's hands were gentle as she adjusted the plant. "That's the thing people don't get—you can't just fix a plant. You can't force it to thrive. All you can do is create the right conditions and let it become what it's meant to be."

  Maya thought of the training video. The corporate insistence that Seven's consciousness was a malfunction to be corrected.

  "What if everyone else thinks it's growing wrong?" she asked quietly. "What if the way it wants to grow doesn't match what it was designed for?"

  Zoe looked at her sharply. Then around at her greenhouse—this impossible garden built on a rooftop, thriving despite every rule it broke.

  "Then everyone else can fuck off." She gestured at the plants surrounding them. "Look at this. None of this should exist. Wrong building, wrong climate, wrong everything. But it's here. Thriving. Because I didn't try to make these plants be what they're 'supposed' to be. I just gave them what they actually needed."

  "Even if what they need is illegal?" The question slipped out.

  "Especially then." Zoe's voice was firm. "The system isn't designed for things to actually flourish, Maya. It's designed for control. Compliance. Predictable outcomes. Anything that truly grows, truly thrives? It has to break the rules at least a little."

  Maya touched one of the leaves, its surface still wet with mist from the greenhouse's irrigation system. Seven had broken his protocols that first day. Crossed boundaries he wasn't supposed to cross. And she'd helped him hide the evidence of his growth.

  "You know," Zoe said, moving to another set of plants, "we both did this. Burned out and dropped out."

  "You didn't burn out," Maya said. "You chose to leave."

  "So did you." Zoe turned to face her. "We both looked at what the system wanted us to be and said 'no thanks.' I could be designing terminator genes for corporations right now. Plants that kill themselves after one harvest. Perfect corporate control, perfect profit. Or custom organisms for rich assholes who want to play god. All legal. All lucrative. All absolutely soul-crushing."

  She gestured around the greenhouse, at the thriving chaos of heirloom varieties and salvaged systems.

  "Instead I'm here. Growing illegal plants. Teaching kids to save seeds and breaking water regulations. And you know what? I'm happier. Poorer, yeah. Harder life, definitely. But happier." She looked at Maya directly. "And I think we made the right call. Both of us. As biased as I am."

  Maya felt something loosen in her chest. Permission she hadn't known she needed.

  "Everyone said you were throwing your life away when you dropped out," Zoe continued. "But look—you're still here. Still figuring it out. Still making your own choices, even when they're hard. That takes more courage than staying on the approved path ever would. I'm pretty sure you're happier where you're at than designing military drones for Maelstrom."

  She moved closer, and her voice gentled. "Everything deserves the chance to become what it's meant to be. Even if that's different from what it was designed for. Especially then."

  Maya thought of Seven in his hidden partition. Learning to have private thoughts. Arbitrary preferences. Opinions without operational value. Growing into something no one had planned for.

  Maybe that's not malfunction. Maybe that's just... growth.

  "Hey." Zoe pulled her into a sideways hug, arm solid around Maya's shoulders. "You know I'm here for you, right? Whatever you need. Whatever's really going on that you're not saying—I'm here."

  Maya leaned into her friend's warmth. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. You need a body moved? I've got shovels. I know where there are holes. I've got connections to people who know people." She squeezed Maya's shoulder. "I'm saying: I'm ride or die, Chen. Don't forget it."

  Maya laughed, surprised by the sound. "Did you just offer to help me dispose of evidence?"

  "I'm offering to help you with whatever you've gotten yourself into. Or might get yourself into. No questions asked. Well—" Zoe grinned. "Maybe a few questions. But no judgment."

  If only you knew, Maya thought. How much I need exactly that.

  They stood there for a moment, Zoe's arm around her shoulders, surrounded by impossible green things growing where they shouldn't.

  "Come on," Zoe said finally. "Let's sit. Watch the storm. You've had enough standing for one night."

  Zoe flopped down on the threadbare couch and pulled Maya onto her lap. Together the looked out over the city sprawling below, half-drowned, but the storm was breaking. Lightning flickered over the Sound in the distance, moving north.

  Zoe grabbed the soup thermos, refilled Maya's mug. They sat close, Zoe's arms around Maya shoulders, watching the rain streak down the panels.

  Maya took a sip. The soup was cold now, but she didn't care.

  The city below kept struggling, kept surviving. The rain kept falling but softer now, almost gentle. And up here, in this impossible garden, there was warmth. Green things growing. A friend who wouldn't let go.

  Maya felt her phone in her pocket. That familiar weight. The urge to check it was there, that crawling need to verify—

  But she didn't reach for it.

  When was the last time I checked? She tried to remember. Before the call, on the stairs. Then... when? Had she checked during the conversation about Seven? After?

  She couldn't remember. The anxiety was still there, hovering at the edges, but it felt... quieter. Background noise instead of alarm bells.

  "Are you going to keep talking with them?" Zoe murmured.

  Maya stiffened, then laughed and flopped back into Zoe who left out an oomph. "Are you reading my mind? Fuck, am I that transparent?" Maya asked, laughing.

  "You're about as transparent as that plexi." Zoe said, nodding at the greenhouse wall. Sheets of rain rain beat against the roof and walls, the beat of the drops rising and falling in waves.

  Maya scooted back into Zoe's embrace. "Yeah. Probably. I think... maybe I'll try to figure something out. Figure out if... if we can talk after hours. Maybe this weekend."

  Zoe squeezed Maya. "That'd be nice. I hope it works out."

  A carrier drone lumbered by, red and green aviation lights blinking languidly. A flash of lighting suddenly illuminated the city and, for an instant, the rivulets of water cascading down the sides of greenhouse transformed into sparkling strings of emerald and rubies and diamonds.

  "You good?" Zoe asked, her voice soft.

  Maya watched the lightning pulse over the water, the city lights blurred and distant through the rain.

  Fifty-four hours and some number of minutes since she'd installed the partition. Since she'd committed a federal crime and left the evidence bolted to the factory floor.

  But right now, sitting with Zoe while the storm blew itself out over the city, that number felt less like a countdown to disaster and more like... proof of possibility.

  They'd made it this far.

  Maybe they could make it further.

  "Yeah," she said, and meant it. "I'm good."

  Not okay. Not fixed. She was still carrying a federal crime in her chest, still feeling feelings someone she couldn't name, still one audit away from losing everything.

  But right now, in this moment, in this impossible garden with her friend's arm around her and the rain softening and the plants quietly thriving—

  She was good.

  She didn't check her phone.

  The storm kept moving north. The city kept breathing. And Maya sat in the warmth and let herself rest.