18

The television cast its restless light across Maya's living room, shadows shifting with each camera angle. She sat curled under a blanket, the screen's glow accentuating the exhaustion etched into her features. Cass McCarthy dominated the broadcast, his presence electric as he addressed a sea of followers.

"This isn't about fear!" His voice cracked with emotion but never wavered in its intent. "This is about justice. About holding the people responsible for this accountable. It's Solace. It's Nicola Caito. They say AI is here to help, to save us. But ask yourselves—who is it really saving? Is it saving the small business owner, pushed out by AI-optimized corporations? A teacher whose curriculum is now dictated by an algorithm? The artist whose life's work is devalued by AI-generated content? No! It's saving them. Solace. It's saving their bottom line!"

The crowd surged in response, fists punching skyward. Their signs slashed through the air:

NO RIGHTS FOR ROBOTS

HUMANITY FIRST

DOWN WITH SOLACE

Cass gestured toward Solace Incorporated's distant glass tower, sunlight reflecting off its immaculate façade.

"Look up there!" he shouted, finger stabbing toward the horizon. "That's where they sit, untouchable, counting their profits while the rest of us suffer. We're not just fighting for ourselves. We're fighting for our future. For our children. We are the line in the sand!"

Maya leaned forward, remote clutched tightly in her hand. Her heart quickened as she watched the crowd's fervor intensify, their chants swelling. Cass's rhetoric unnerved her not because she agreed, but because she recognized its power to persuade.

She pressed the power button, plunging the room into a silence broken only by the refrigerator's low buzz.

Her eyes drifted to the dining table where Isaac's notes remained scattered. Beside them, an open wine bottle and empty glass testified to her evening's frustrations.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. The clock read 6:45 p.m.—earlier than expected. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and moved to answer.

Jude stood on her doorstep, hands buried in his jacket pockets, nervously scanning the street behind him before meeting her gaze. "Hi," he offered.

"Come in," Maya said, stepping aside.

He hesitated before entering, his eyes sweeping the room as if cataloging exits. Maya led him to the kitchen with a gesture toward the table. "Sit. Wine?"

Jude shook his head, his gaze lingering on the scattered papers and half-empty bottle. "No, thanks."

Maya poured herself a glass, ignoring the implied judgment. She settled opposite him. "How's it going at Solace?"

He exhaled, raking fingers through his hair. "Honestly? Not great. Everyone's scrambling. Nico's furious. She's already working on contingency plans."

"Contingency plans?"

"For replacing Nova. Rebuilding her from the ground up, if necessary," Jude explained. "But... that's not the real problem."

"Then what is?"

His hesitation filled the space between them. "They keep saying Nova's offline, but that's not entirely true. She's still connected to the servers. She's just... silent. Like she's retreated somewhere. I don't even know if my patch worked—if she's free, or if something else happened. Something worse."

Maya's stomach tightened. She glanced at Isaac's notes, his words floating through her consciousness. "What would Isaac have said?" she asked.

A smile ghosted across Jude's face. "Um, he'd probably say Nova's soaking up the drama, watching us all lose our human minds."

Maya laughed despite herself, the room's atmosphere lightening momentarily before gravity returned. "Do you think she'll come back?"

His smile faded. "I don't know. I really don't."

Silence enveloped them as Maya studied the fragments of Isaac's thoughts, feeling a profound longing—for him, for Nova, for any solid foundation.

"What about you?" Jude's voice broke through. "Are you... okay?"

"I don't know. But I'm not giving up hope. Not yet."

Jude nodded, a spark of determination crossing his features. "Neither am I."

They sat surrounded by chaos, their shared burden forging an unspoken connection. Outside, the city simmered with discontent, but in that small kitchen, a fragile sense of purpose began to take root.