8. Tisha

She could barely sleep the night before. As soon as she drifted off, it was into dream visions of shadows and shields ripping her in half. The river clawed at her ankles, tugging her down into the oil-slick waters. Just when her face had been about to submerge into infinite blackness, cold, hard hands dragged her out by the wrists, ensuing a tug-of-war she had no say in.

When the river won, everything went black and she jolted awake, afraid to close her eyes again. When the hands heaved her to the surface, it was worse. Her breath fogged the black glass in her face as she searched for signs of life, but there were none—only a void with nothing behind it as she was hoisted onto concrete. She’d reach up, oily fingertips leaving marks on the shadowed glass, and find nothing but smooth indifference. But even as her mind screamed, her dream body refused to fight and only registered one urge:

Closer.

And just as he was about to devour her, she’d jerk awake in the dark.

So no, Tisha hadn’t slept. When she did finally manage to drift off at the tail end of the night, that precious rest was interrupted by her cell ringing.

“Hello?” she rasped into her phone, rolling over to her back.

* * *

“They’re calling me in for more prep,” she said when she emerged from the bedroom in low-slung jeans and a bomber jacket over a crop top. She raised an eyebrow as Ansel snapped to attention in a motion that looked almost… surprised? Had she caught him off guard?

Something was wrong with this thing…

Only Tisha had realized at some point in the last twenty-four hours her brain decided to stop thinking of him as a thing at all.

Maybe it was the way he’d handled all those reporters the day before to keep them away from her… Or the way she’d wanted him in the room during that weird prep session.

It could’ve been her sister calling him he and it not feeling wrong at all somehow. Just a little defensive over her blatant ogling. Before Ansel, Tisha would’ve straight up rejected the idea that a machine with a faceless visor showing zero emotion or affect could be attractive in any way… But there they were, so maybe it was that.

Or maybe it was how, when his alarm bells went off about something, Tisha’s first instinct was to run for him rather than away.

But mostly, she realized, it was that moment after the interview when she’d stupidly told him about her sister and he’d kept it safe. They shared a secret.

Tisha fidgeted with her pockets and puttered around the kitchen making toast, stealing surreptitious glances his way. She had to get her own head on straight. That morning’s surprise agenda item was the perfect time to make her move and get away.

“I have analyzed the phone call.” Ansel’s voice startled her out of her overthinking funk.

“What?” she asked, taking her first bite of buttered toast. “How?”

“I listened when you were in your bedroom.”

“You…” Tisha’s stomach dropped. “Your hearing’s that good, huh?”

How much did he hear us say about him at the diner?

“I have confirmed the authorization and location of the meeting.”

“Right…” She took another bite and checked her pockets again instinctively before she could stop herself, feeling for the slight ridge there.

Damn it, Tisha.

“The parameters are irregular,” Ansel said, seemingly oblivious to her fidgeting. Something was definitely wrong with him.

Which made the timing perfect.

“Oh yeah?” She walked over to the door and slapped a firm palm on the smooth carapace of the robot’s bulging shoulder. The faint churn in his eye lights could almost be interpreted as confusion. “Well, good thing your job’s making sure no one offs me until after the trial then. Let’s go, bytebrains.”