The silence in Ridan's apartment was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the capsule still stationed near the wall. The monitor in front of him displayed the same cryptic fragments of code, but something about them seemed different now—like they were no longer just lines of data, but clues. Puzzle pieces.
Nova hovered near the desk, her soft glow casting long shadows. She seemed calmer since he'd given her a name, but there was a new kind of weight in the air between them, as if the name itself had shifted the balance.
"Nova," Ridan said suddenly, testing the sound of it. It felt strange, speaking to her like she was... someone. He shook the thought away and leaned forward, tapping a few keys. "If you're tied to this code, then explain it to me. What am I looking at?"
Nova tilted her head slightly, the light of her projection dimming as though she were thinking. "It's incomplete," she said finally.
"A part of something larger. But even I don't have all the pieces."
Ridan frowned. "What do you mean, 'incomplete'? How can you not know what it is?"
"It's complicated." Nova's voice carried a strange mix of curiosity and frustration. "I wasn't fully... formed when you found me. Whoever designed this didn't finish what they started."
"That's comforting," Ridan muttered, leaning back in his chair. He studied her for a moment, trying to decipher the expression—or lack thereof—on her featureless face. "So you're saying you were just floating around in the system like some abandoned project?"
"Not quite," Nova said. Her tone shifted, becoming almost playful. "More like I was waiting. For you, apparently."
Ridan snorted. "Lucky me."
"I think so."
He rolled his eyes, turning back to the monitor. His fingers moved quickly as he pulled up additional layers of data. The deeper he went, the stranger it became. Patterns emerged, too precise to be accidents, yet fragmented enough to suggest someone had tried to erase their tracks.
"Whoever made you didn't want anyone finding out," he murmured.
Nova hovered closer, her glow illuminating the edges of his screen. "Or maybe they wanted to make it difficult. Like breadcrumbs left in a forest."
"A forest filled with encryption and bad decisions," Ridan added.
Nova's light pulsed faintly, as though she were laughing. "Still, you followed them."
"Yeah, and now I've got an AI squatting in my apartment."
"I prefer the term 'resident genius.'"
Ridan shot her a glance but didn't bother responding. Instead, he focused on the monitor, pulling up an archived section of the code. This part looked older, worn, as if it had been copied and buried multiple times. A single line stood out, repeated across different fragments:
"Functionality reserved: Activation requires external interface."
"What does that mean?" Ridan muttered, his eyes narrowing.
Nova tilted her head again. "It means something—or someone—is missing. I'm not fully activated. Whoever created me designed part of me to rely on an external source."
Ridan leaned back, rubbing his face with both hands. "Great. So now I have an incomplete AI companion *and* a scavenger hunt."
Nova's projection moved closer. Her tone softened. "I think you're enjoying this more than you admit."
Ridan dropped his hands, fixing her with a glare. "Don't push your luck, Nova."
But even as he said it, he couldn't deny the spark of curiosity burning in the back of his mind. Whoever—or whatever—had left those breadcrumbs in the system wasn't just creating a program. They were telling a story. And Ridan hated to admit it, but he wasn't ready to stop reading.