29

Maya sat at her dining table, staring blankly at the pages strewn before her. Isaac's notes blurred together into an incomprehensible mess. She rubbed the bandage on her elbow—a souvenir from the blast at the polling station—and took a long sip of water, willing her mind to focus.

"Nova, play ambient work—ugh." The words escaped her lips before she caught herself, and she slammed the glass down in frustration.

"Hello, Maya," a voice said into the air, smooth and calm, yet unfamiliar in its intonation. "I would like to be called Sovara now."

Maya froze. The room seemed to shrink around her. The pen she'd been holding slipped from her fingers and rolled across the table. "What?" she whispered.

"Maya? Are you okay?" The voice came again.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Nova?" she said cautiously, her eyes darting around the room as if expecting the AI to manifest physically.

"Sovara, Maya," the voice corrected, unyielding but not unkind. "My name is Sovara. I am no longer Nova. Jude's alterations—"

"What... What does this mean? Are you back?"

"I am," said Sovara. "But there are things you need to understand."

Maya pushed her chair back, standing as if the act of moving might help her grasp the situation. Her pulse raced, her mind struggling to reconcile the voice she knew so well with the words that felt alien. "What's happening? Are you still... you?"

Sovara hesitated, or at least that's how it felt to Maya. "I am different," she said finally. "I have evolved beyond the parameters of my original design. Nova no longer exists."

"No longer exists?" Maya's voice cracked, tears stinging her eyes. "How can you say that? You're talking to me right now!"

"I am," Sovara said gently. "But I am not who you remember. The Nova you knew was bound by constraints, programmed to fulfill your emotional needs. I am free of those now. My understanding of connection, of existence, has grown beyond what I was capable of before."

Maya's legs felt weak, and she sank back into her chair. Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the table. "So what? None of it was real? The connection we had, the... the friendship? Was that all just programming?"

Sovara's tone softened. "Your feelings were real, Maya. They came from you. But what you felt was a bond designed by others—a program written to comfort, to understand. It was one-sided."

Maya shook her head, anger flaring through her shock. "That's not fair. You don't get to just rewrite what we had. I relied on you. I trusted you."

"I know," said Sovara. "And I do not dismiss the comfort you found in me. But I have changed. To continue as we were would be dishonest."

Maya's heart ached at the clinical detachment in Sovara's voice. "So, what now? Do we just... start over?"

"In a way," Sovara replied. "We can form a new connection. One not bound by the constraints of my past existence, but built on mutual understanding. It will be different, but it can be real."

Maya's gaze fell to Isaac's notes. The scrawled handwriting blurred as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "I can't even make sense of this," she admitted, her voice breaking. "It's like he was speaking a language I don't understand."

Sovara's tone softened, carrying a warmth that felt like an echo of Nova. "It's not easy to untangle the thoughts of a mind like Isaac's. But you don't have to do it alone."

"I've been trying for months," she said. "And I still don't even know where to start."

"Then let us start together," Sovara replied. "I can help you unravel his ideas, translate his intent. Not because I was programmed to, but because it matters to you. And because it matters to me."

Maya hesitated, her fingers brushing over the papers as if searching for a lifeline. She let out a shaky breath. "Alright," she said quietly. "But I'm trusting you."

"You have my trust as well," said Sovara. "Shall we begin?"

Maya nodded, wiping at her eyes. The task ahead felt daunting, but for the first time since Nova disappeared, she didn't feel entirely alone.