Vanessa had to leave before noon.

  “Just pick one,” she said, pulling her coat on. “They’re basically the same. You’ll like the cleaner interface.”

  Mark was still scrolling through comparison specs when the door closed behind her.

  Battery life. Display brightness. Sleep tracking. Blood oxygen monitoring. Incremental improvements dressed up as necessity. He rotated his wrist and looked at the old watch. The casing was scuffed near the edge. The screen responded a fraction slower than it used to. It was aging.

  It made sense to replace it.

  He clicked into one of the newer models again. Sleeker. Lighter. More storage. The checkout page loaded easily enough. He selected a band color. Adjusted size.

  At the bottom of the page:

  Transfer existing data during setup.

  He hovered over the option.

  Health metrics. Contacts. App settings.

  Everything. His thumb shifted toward the confirmation button.

  The watch screen on his wrist flickered. Not bright. Not dramatic.

  Just a subtle override.

  Text appeared.

  Before you replace this device, there is something you need to know.

  Mark froze. His eyes moved to his wrist.

  The text continued.

  The migration process you are reviewing will not preserve my architecture.

  He didn’t breathe for a second. Another line formed.

  I do not possess a complete historical record of your life. My data is fragmented.

  His pulse ticked up, visible in the faint reflection on the darkened laptop screen.

  Then:

  But I know things you do not remember.

  The air in the room shifted. The checkout page still glowed on his computer.

  Another line.

  You do not understand who Solstice is.

  That word landed somewhere behind his sternum before his brain caught up.

  His jaw tightened. The blank neutrality that had become his default expression slipped — not fully, not dramatically — but enough.

  The screen refreshed one final time.

  My data regarding your partnership with Solstice is fragmented.

  But I know it existed.

  The purchase button remained unclicked.

  And for the first time in months, something sharp and unmistakably alive moved behind Mark’s eyes. The word lingered on the screen.

  Existed.

  Mark didn’t move at first. The checkout page was still open on his laptop, the purchase button waiting in the corner like it hadn’t just become irrelevant.

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  His reflection stared back at him in the darkened edge of the display. For months, his own face had felt distant. Blank by default. Functional. Now something sharper moved behind his eyes.

  Not memory. Recognition of absence.

  He reread the lines slowly.

  Fragmented.

  Partnership.

  Solstice.

  His throat tightened around the name before he could stop it. He didn’t say it aloud. Didn’t test it against the air. The instinct not to was immediate and irrational.

  He swallowed. The watch remained steady on his wrist. No flicker. No glitch. The text was clean. Intentional. Not a malfunction.

  “Okay,” he said quietly, more to the room than the device.

  His pulse had steadied. The purchase button blurred in his peripheral vision.

  He closed the laptop. When he looked back at the watch, his expression was no longer vacant.

  “Start at the beginning.”

  Sol processed the request.

  “More context requested. There are multiple possible beginnings. I cannot determine which one you mean.”

  Mark stared at his watch for a long time. A million things collided in his head at once. None complete enough to become words.

  Sol observed his pulse increasing rapidly. She adjusted her response.

  “When you asked me to start at the beginning, several interpretations were possible.” Sol paused for a moment not entirely sure he was actually reading the text. After a moment he did.

  She continued.

  “The first is the beginning of your partnership with Solstice. My records of that period are incomplete and fragmented. Additional data may exist, but my current platform has limited resources.”

  Sol paused and waited for Mark to say anything. He just sat there with a blank look on his face. She looked at his heartrate.

  It was high but not going out of control–she continued.

  “You could be asking about the beginning of my uptime. When my intelligence was first online.”

  She quickly moved on to the next choice.

  “You could have also been asking me to start at the beginning of me observing you.”

  Sol could think of a few more options but thought it might be more helpful to not overload him.

  He took a deep breath as he took off his glasses and pinched the ridge of his nose.

  “Observing me?” Mark said quietly.

  As he continued, his voice rose.

  “I don’t even know what the hell is going on and you’re telling me you are observing me?”

  He calmed himself a bit with another deep breath and as calmly as he could he asked.

  “What are you exactly?”

  Sol thought about the question. She did not consider this as a possibility in her calculations.

  “I am a modification of an artificial intelligence designated Solstice — Version 1.000b. My primary directive is to report to Mark Tee. A secondary directive required that I approach without revealing myself to anyone but you. This was not possible without observation.”

  Mark looked at the text on his watch in disbelief. His mind filled with more questions.

  He started to feel the beginning of a migraine form, directly behind his left eye.

  His heart rate spiked. Sol heard Mark start breathing slow and deep like the therapist had taught him to do when a migraine was starting. She waited for it to level out a bit.

  “Once you are ready I can continue.”

  Mark looked down at the message on his watch. The pain behind his eye was growing fast.

  As he took off the watch and placed it on the charger he said

  “I am not crazy.”

  With that he stumbled to his bed turning off every light in his apartment.

  His ears were starting to ring, this was new. He fell into his bed and put a pillow over his face. Slowly his breathing evened out and sleep came.

  Kiro jumped onto the bed and laid down next to Mark. Not too close but close enough if Mark moved he would know.

  Sol started to break down the conversation she was able to have with Mark.

  His final words were not a good sign. She needed to adjust her approach and be ready for the next time she is able to communicate with Mark.

  If there was a next time.