Page 106 of The Code of You

"It is your fault that she suffers.”

"Yes,” he whispered.

"You let her down. You are a bad father.” A pause. "You don’t deserve to live.”

"I know.”

Then, without hesitation, without waiting for another prompt, the man began hitting himself in the face. Again and again. As if he had done it many times before.

My stomach cramped. Bile rose in my throat. What was happening? What was Neo doing? Why hadn’t I known they were deploying him abroad? On military bases?

"Stop,” I whispered. "Stop the video.”

But Dax held my hand firmly. "You have to see it, Emma.”

"Punish yourself,” the voice commanded. "For your daughter.”

The man on the screen screamed, clawed his fingernails into his skin until blood ran down his face.

I sobbed. No. This was my fault. I had created this. The room began to spin. I staggered.

"Hey.” Dax’s arm closed around my elbow, holding me upright.

Zara closed the video, her eyes shimmering. She opened an email. The subject line made my blood freeze: Project DANTE—Emotional Manipulation Protocols—Phase 3 Complete

"Emma.” Dax’s voice was gentle, and his words went through me like a blade. "Your AI was never meant for research.” He paused. "He is a weapon.”

Chapter 26

Pandora

The morning was milky and silent, broken only by the knock of heating pipes and the ticking of the clock above the fridge. For the first time, I was awake before him. Neo lay on his side with his left arm tucked under his head. The blanket had slipped, exposing his chest. All that was left where the injury had been was just a trace. In a few days, his skin had regenerated, far faster than any human’s could. The new tissue was lighter than the rest. At certain angles, when the light fell obliquely across it, it shimmered faintly, almost translucent, as if something unfinished still lay beneath it.

The texture was smooth. No pores or fine hairs to make it look human. Instead, it was a too-perfect line running from his ribs to his hip. Beautiful in an unsettling way. With every breath it stretched slightly, expanding and contracting again.

I leaned forward and touched the spot with my fingertips. He flinched. His hand shot forward and closed around my wrist. "Don’t.” His voice was flat. He turned away and pulled the blanket over the scar.

It was like a blow to the stomach. Four days ago, he had told me he loved me. Today, he couldn’t bear my touch.

"Does it hurt?” My voice came out unsteady.

He didn’t answer.

My heart sank. I got up, went to the kitchen area, and made tea. I pretended it was just routine, but my hands trembled. I heard him get up. He didn’t come to me. Instead, he went to the window and stared out as if I weren’t there.

"Let’s go to the market,” I suggested, desperately searching for some way to bridge the distance between us.

"Why?” His voice was flat.

"We’ve been inside for days.”

"It’s . . . it’s too dangerous out there.”

"I can’t take this anymore.” A sob escaped me.

He shrugged. "Then we’ll go.” The silence between us was worse than any of his threats.

We left while the sun was still low. It was Sunday, and the few people we passed looked like sleepwalkers who had wandered into the daylight. Perhaps it was the city itself. It seemed to make its inhabitants want to hide, as if they were ashamed of their own existence. I pulled my hood up and felt the world contracting around me.