The boarding house settles early.

  By the time Buck climbs the narrow stairs to his room, the sounds below have softened into the low murmur of plates and tired voices. He closes the door gently behind him, the latch catching with a dull click that feels oddly reassuring.

  He sits on the edge of the bed and empties his pockets onto the small table.

  Coins scatter softly. More than yesterday. Enough to matter.

  Buck exhales. “That went… well.”

  Objectively, B.U.C.K. says, you turned sharp metal into social capital. That’s a strong opening move.

  Buck lies back, boots still on, hands folded over his chest. The ceiling above him is a patchwork of stains and hairline cracks.

  “Let’s see it,” he says. “Whatever you’re tracking.”

  The HUD returns, dimmer now, like print read by candlelight. The broadsheet format feels appropriate in the quiet.

  Buck studies it. “You don’t mince words.”

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  Clarity is kindness,* B.U.C.K. replies.

  Buck taps the table once. “You flagged the Guard.”

  I did.

  “They weren’t a real threat,” Buck says.

  They weren’t, B.U.C.K. agrees. Today.

  Buck sighs. “You’re worried about me.”

  There is a pause. Not long. Just enough.

  You have a bias for action, B.U.C.K. says carefully.You always have. When something feels wrong, you move. You don’t wait for permission.

  Buck smiles faintly. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”

  It’s a strength, the AI replies. In the wrong moment, it’s also how people get dead.

  Buck closes his eyes.

  “Tell me something,” he says. “About before.”

  The voice softens.

  You were small, B.U.C.K. says. You lined things up. Toys. Books. Rocks you found. You liked knowing where everything was.

  Buck frowns slightly. “I don’t remember that.”

  You don’t remember most of it, B.U.C.K. says. But it’s there. Underneath.

  Buck swallows.

  You asked a lot of questions, the AI continues. Not the loud kind. The quiet ones. You listened more than you spoke.

  An image flickers at the edge of Buck’s mind. Small hands arranging something carefully. A sense of order.

  “Go on,” he says.

  You trusted me, B.U.C.K. says simply. Before you knew what trust was.

  Buck’s throat tightens.

  “So tomorrow,” he says, changing the subject before it gets away from him. “You said we start training.”

  Yes, B.U.C.K. replies. And I’d planned to ease into it.

  Buck opens one eye. “Planned.”

  Today changed the calculus, B.U.C.K. says. Not because of the Guard. Because of you.

  Buck sits up slightly. “I handled it.”

  You did, B.U.C.K. agrees. And you will again. But next time, I want you prepared in ways you don’t yet know you need.

  Buck nods slowly. “Faster.”

  A little, the AI says. Still careful. Still aligned.

  Buck lies back again, exhaustion finally claiming its due.

  “Promise me something,” he says quietly.

  Name it.

  “Don’t let me rush into something I can’t survive.”

  There is no hesitation in the reply.

  I won’t, B.U.C.K. says. That’s my job.

  Buck’s breathing slows. The room fades to shadows.

  As sleep pulls at him, the voice returns, softer now. Almost a whisper.

  Secrets don’t count if you whisper them in the dark.

  Buck frowns faintly, already drifting.

  “What secret,” he murmurs.

  The AI does not answer.

  The house creaks. The city hums. And somewhere beneath it all, time waits.