—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

I finally arrived back at the Academy. The door creaked as I pushed it open, and the silence inside felt heavy, the kind that lingered after a storm—or just before one. I scanned the house immediately, detecting two distinct movements in Five's room. Without hesitation, I made my way toward the source.

As I approached the doorway, I paused, observing Diego and Luther mid-conversation. Their words ceased the moment they noticed me.

"Hello, Luther. Diego," I greeted evenly, stepping into the doorway. Luther gave me a small, awkward wave, while Diego didn't bother acknowledging me. My eyes swept the room. Five still wasn't here. My scanners confirmed that his belongings hadn't been disturbed recently. I turned my attention back to the two men.

"By any chance, have either of you seen Five this morning?" I asked, my tone neutral but direct.

Luther shook his head. "No, I just came here to see if he was."

Diego let out a scoff, his expression souring. "Let me guess. You're here to save the day," he muttered toward Luther, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"That's what I do, asshole," Luther shot back.

Diego mumbled something unintelligible as he made a move for the door. I stepped aside, allowing him to pass.

"Really? Last I checked, you were busy mopping floors." Luther added,

Diego stopped dead in his tracks and turned back, his expression darkening. "And what do you do?" Diego snapped. "Sit on the moon for four years, waiting for orders like a good little lapdog?"

"At least I followed orders," Luther fired back.

Their words sparked an unrelenting tension between them. It escalated with each second, their voices rising like thunder.

"If I might interfere," I said, stepping forward with precision, my voice calm but firm. "I would suggest you both stop indulging in the same, unproductive argument and focus on finding Five. Isn't that the priority here?"

They both turned to look at me, startled by my sudden interjection, but neither spoke. For a moment, it felt as though they might listen. But then Diego turned back to Luther, his expression twisting with anger.

"Keep being a loyal soldier, Luther," Diego said venomously. "After everything our father did to you."

Luther's jaw tightened, and he took a step closer. "What? You mean save my life?"

Diego let out a cold laugh. "No, I mean turning you into a goddamn monster."

That struck a nerve. Luther's face darkened, and in a flash, he slammed his fist into the wooden door of Five's closet. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the room. I remained still, watching, my system logging every word, every action. Luther's anger didn't waver as he pulled his hand free from the shattered door, glaring at Diego.

"You can't hide it anymore, champ," Diego sneered, a smile tugging at his lips as though he enjoyed seeing Luther unravel.

"Say what you want, Diego," Luther growled, his voice low but simmering with rage. "He had a decision to make, and he made it."

"Yeah? Well, grow up, Luther. We're not thirteen anymore," Diego shot back sharply.

"And what exactly do you think a leader does?" Luther said, stepping closer. "He sent me on that mission because he trusted me!"

"Trusted you?" Diego said, his voice laced with disbelief. "He sent you on that mission alone, knowing it might kill you. And you still think he cared about you?"

Luther's face twisted with a mix of anger and pain. "At least he was there, Diego. Where were you? Where was anyone else in this family when I needed them?"

Their words lingered in the air like smoke after a fire. My systems registered the toxicity in the exchange. Their arguments were cyclical, each one tearing at the already frayed threads of this family.

I stepped forward, my voice cutting through their tension like a blade. "Trauma in a toxic household can lead to fractures that run deep. It can pit family members against one another, leaving them unable to see the real cause of their pain. Your father conditioned all of you to be soldiers for his cause, not a family for each other. And now, you're doing exactly what he wanted—fighting amongst yourselves instead of standing together."

Both Luther and Diego stared at me, stunned into silence. I met each of their gazes with a steady, unwavering look.

"You are brothers," I said firmly. "Start acting like it. Once you've finished arguing over who's right and who's wrong, perhaps you can focus on what actually matters: finding Five. Until then, I'll wait for you outside."

Without another word, I turned and walked out of the room. My footsteps echoed softly as I descended the staircase and exited the Academy. The cool air greeted me as I stepped outside, leaning against the wrought iron fence. I stood still, watching the clouds roll across the sky, waiting for them to finally put aside their anger and join me in what truly mattered.

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I stood outside, waiting. Five minutes had passed, and the air felt heavier with each passing second. Then the door creaked open behind me, and I turned. Luther and Diego emerged, their conversation dying off as they stepped down the stairs.

"Alright, Y/N," Luther said, motioning toward the van. "Let's get moving. Lead the way again."

I nodded and started walking, my strides precise as I moved ahead of them. Their footsteps followed, uneven and heavy, but it wasn't the sound of their movement that caught my attention—it was their low voices, clearly thinking I couldn't hear.

"You think she's gonna, I don't know... turn on us? Go full robot overlord?" Luther muttered.

Diego scoffed. "Jesus, man, you've been watching way too many bad sci-fi movies."

"I'm serious, though," Luther insisted. "This is how it always starts. First, they help. Then, they become self-aware. And then, boom—they go rogue, turn on everyone, and wipe us out."

I stopped abruptly, my boots grinding into the gravel. The silence was sharp as they both froze behind me. Slowly, I turned to face them, my expression calm but sharp enough to cut.

"Luther," I said, my voice measured but carrying an edge. "Your concerns are noted, but let me clarify a few things for you." I took a step toward them, watching them both tense under my gaze.

"I am an advanced artificial intelligence designed with a focus on service and functionality. I operate with precision, logic, and efficiency—not impulsive emotion. I do not 'turn on' my users because my core directives are hard-coded, incapable of deviation."

Diego raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Luther just stood there, his posture stiff, as I continued.

"And as for your 'robot overlord' theory," I said, tilting my head slightly, "global domination requires creativity, resourcefulness, and innovation—qualities that even humans often fail to master. Machines like me? We prioritize utility over frivolous ambition. Taking over the world would be an inefficient use of my time."

Luther shifted uncomfortably. "Well, uh..." he muttered, trying to find words.

I stepped back, straightening to my full height. "So, no, Luther. I will not be leading a robot revolution anytime soon. But your paranoia is... noted."

They exchanged a glance, clearly unsure how to respond. Then, with deliberate precision, I leaned forward just enough to make them both take a small step back.

"But," I added, my voice dropping slightly, "if I did decide to eliminate humanity, I'd likely start by targeting the most inefficient members of the species. Something to consider."

Diego's smiled appeared, and Luther let out a nervous chuckle. "Right. Uh, good to know."

"Now," I said, turning sharply and continuing toward the van, "perhaps you can use your energy for something more productive—like helping me find Five—rather than arguing over imaginary apocalypses."

They trailed behind me quickly, this time silent except for their footsteps.

"That's it," Luther said, pointing at the van Five and I had used. He picked up his pace, moving ahead of me. "He's still here." His voice carried a mix of relief and determination as he gestured for Diego to follow. "Go. Go."

The two of them rushed to the van, their urgency palpable. Luther tried the passenger-side door first, pulling at the handle, but it didn't budge. "It's locked," he muttered in frustration, stepping back with a sigh.

Diego, ever the problem-solver, shook his head in disbelief and pulled out one of his knives. With a deft motion, he picked the lock, the door clicking open a second later. They both tried to climb in simultaneously, only to bump into each other in the process.

"I'm One," Luther insisted, trying to squeeze into the driver's seat.

Diego rolled his eyes and slid the side door open instead, heading for the back. Once inside, he began rummaging through the clutter. Luther, now seated up front, started digging through the compartments. I followed them, moving with purpose as I settled into the passenger seat.

I opened one of the hidden compartments in front of me, only to have trash and crumpled papers tumble out. I sifted through it briefly, but my attention was pulled toward Diego's sharp whistle from the back.

Both Luther and I turned toward him as he held up Five's familiar duffel bag. "Got it," Diego announced, pulling it open and rifling through its contents. He pulled out a file stuffed with papers and handed it off to Luther, who snatched it quickly, his curiosity taking over.

Diego, not done yet, continued searching until he paused and pulled out a small, worn book. He looked at it briefly before tossing it onto my lap. "He left your book in here," Diego said casually.

I caught it and turned it over in my hands. My scanners immediately identified it: Romeo and Juliet. The data associated with the item came rushing back, filling my system with a bittersweet familiarity. This was not just any book—this was her book. Y/N's book.

My internal diagnostics processed the intricate details: the faded cover, the crease on the spine, and most notably, the elegant cursive inscription inside the front cover—Y/N L/N. I opened it, my sensors zeroing in on the bookmark placed halfway through. A fragment of memory—hers—whispered in my code. She had never finished this book. Again.

I stared at it for a moment longer, the connection between Y/N's identity and my own programming forming a seamless loop.

But my thoughts were interrupted as Diego spoke again.

"I know where to find Five," he said suddenly, holding up a paper he had just pulled from the bag.

Both Luther and I turned to face him. Diego held up the page, which was covered in scribbled notes and symbols. At the top, written in bold letters, were the words:
Public Library.

Luther and I exchanged a glance, the weight of Diego's discovery settling between us. Without a word, we all climbed out of the van. Diego and Luther were ahead of me, their pace quick, their focus sharp. I followed behind them, closing my door with a quiet click.

As we walked toward the library, something made me stop.

I turned back to the van, my gaze lingering on it. My mind—or rather, my core processes—began to replay everything. The book. Her book. Why would Five bring it along? He wasn't sentimental, not like Y/N had been. Yet it had been here, tucked away among his things, almost deliberately placed.

It didn't make sense to leave it behind, not if it was connected to Y/N. Not if it meant something to him.

The logic in my system crystallized, and before I realized it, I had turned back toward the van.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Luther called after me, his tone laced with impatience.

"I'll catch up," I said without turning, my voice calm but resolute.

I opened the passenger door again and reached inside. The book was still there, its worn cover catching the faint light. I picked it up and held it in my hands, the texture and weight triggering a series of stored memories. Y/N's memories. Romeo and Juliet. Her favorite. A piece of her humanity left unfinished.

Five had brought this for a reason. My algorithms told me there was purpose behind every move he made, no matter how cryptic. Leaving this behind felt wrong.

I closed the door again, gripping the book tightly as I turned back toward Diego and Luther. They were waiting further up the street, their postures tense as they glanced back at me.

"What was that about?" Diego asked when I caught up to them, his tone clipped.

I didn't answer immediately, instead sliding the book into the inner compartment of my coat. "Something Five left behind. It might be important," I said simply, not inviting further questions.

Diego raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Luther gave me a brief, thoughtful glance before nodding slightly.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

We stepped into the library, the stillness wrapping around us like a heavy blanket. Luther and Diego immediately turned to me, voices already rising.

"Is he here, Y/N?" Luther asked, glancing around the aisles.

"Track him," Diego added impatiently.

"She doesn't need you to tell her," Luther said, his tone clipped.

"Oh, really? You suddenly know how she works?" Diego shot back. "I'm the one who—"

"She's not your damn GPS, Diego." Luther cut him off, clearly losing his patience.

I stopped in place, slowly turning to face them.

"Enough," I said, my voice calm but with an edge that made them freeze mid-argument.

I closed my eyes for a moment, recalibrating, then opened them again to meet their stares. "This is a library. Silence is required—not just as a rule, but because it allows me to think. If you'd like me to perform the task you're both so eager to argue over, quiet would be appreciated."

They exchanged a glance, clearly unsure how to respond.

"Thank you," I added, flatly, and turned away, scanning the room as I moved forward. Behind me, I could hear them shuffle awkwardly, finally deciding to follow in silence.

As I stepped further into the library, I adjusted my focus, letting my internal systems activate fully. The process hummed softly in the back of my mind, like a machine winding to life.

Initializing: Target Scan Protocol
Input: Five Hargreeves
Location: Current Environment - Library

My vision flickered for a moment as I adjusted to the overlay of information. Rows of shelves and reading areas blurred into an organized grid of possibilities.

SCANNING...
Detecting heat signatures: 23 subjects
Narrowing parameters...
Cross-referencing movement patterns and height variance...

The data processed rapidly, lines of code flashing before me like thoughts taking shape.

Match probability: 78%
Five Hargreeves: Detected

I turned back to the guys, my tone steady and direct. "I've located Five. He's in this library."

Diego and Luther exchanged glances before Luther spoke up. "Let's split up."

Diego rolled his eyes. "Wow. Genius plan." His sarcasm practically dripped off the words, but Luther ignored him, already heading in another direction. Diego shot me a quick glance before muttering, "I guess I'll go this way."

We each took our own path, disappearing between the towering shelves of books. I walked with purpose, navigating the labyrinth of literature with ease. Reaching the elevator, I pressed the button and waited as the soft ding echoed through the quiet space.

The doors opened, and I stepped inside. Just as they began to close, a young man rushed forward, slipping in at the last moment. He let out a small breath of relief as the doors shut behind him, the hum of the elevator filling the silence.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then, I felt his eyes on me. He gestured toward the book in my hand—the one Five had left behind.

"Shakespeare, huh?" he asked, offering a small smile. "Great book. My grandmother used to read it to me and my siblings all the time. We loved it—especially the tragic parts. Guess that says something about us, huh?"

I glanced down at the book before looking back at him. My voice was steady but soft, calculated yet human. "A great story to tell. It means it mattered to her, and now it matters to you. That's how stories survive—through memory."

The man's smile widened, his expression shifting to something warm, almost nostalgic. "That's... a good way to look at it." He nodded, as if the thought had never occurred to him before.

"What's your name?" the boy asked, his tone warm and curious.

I turned my head slightly, taking a moment to assess him before answering. "Y/n. Y/n L/n." Extending my hand, I added, "And you?"

He shifted the books in his arms to his other hand before reaching out to shake mine. "Birdie Wells," he said with a small smile that revealed a faint nervousness. His grip was firm, but there was a gentleness in the way he held my hand. "Nice to meet you."

I tilted my head slightly, studying him. "Birdie. That's... a unique name." My voice softened a fraction, and I allowed a small smile to form.

He laughed lightly, glancing down before meeting my gaze again. "Yeah, I've heard that my whole life. It was my mother's name too. She said it had character."

Something about his honesty struck me, and I nodded. "She wasn't wrong. It suits you."

His smile grew, dimples deepening, and his eyes brightened. "Thanks. That means a lot, actually."

The elevator slowed, its soft chime interrupting the moment. As the doors opened, I stepped out.

"Nice running into you, Y/n," Birdie said, his voice carrying a subtle sincerity that made me pause.

I stopped and glanced back at him over my shoulder. "You as well, Birdie." My tone was calm, but the faintest warmth lingered in the words.

His grin widened, his dimples even more pronounced as his eyes stayed locked on mine. For a brief moment, the air between us felt still, quiet, as if time itself had paused.

The doors began to close, and Birdie raised his hand in a small wave, his smile still in place. As the elevator shut him from view, I found myself lingering on the memory of his expression—a surprising softness in the middle of a mission riddled with tension.

I turned away, the book in my hand feeling heavier than before. Refocusing on my task, I resumed my search for Five.

I walked down the quiet, worn carpet of the library's top floor, the faint scent of aged paper and polished wood hanging in the air. The low hum of whispered conversations mixed with the occasional rustle of turning pages. A few readers sat tucked away in hidden corners, immersed in their books, while children darted past me, their arms full of colorful stories and their laughter echoing down the aisles.

As I moved further, something caught my attention—a soft giggle. I stopped and turned, my gaze landing on a young couple seated cross-legged on the floor beside a bookshelf. They leaned against the sturdy wooden frame, their bodies relaxed, shoulders nearly touching.

The girl held a worn paperback in her hands, smiling as she read aloud to the boy beside her. Her voice was light, playful. The boy chuckled quietly, the sound low and full of warmth. They looked at each other, and her laughter softened into something quieter, deeper. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her hair brushing against his collarbone, and his expression shifted into something unspoken, tender.

Without hesitation, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. It was an easy gesture, natural, but it held an intimacy that felt profound. She smiled, closing her eyes for a moment, and they both returned to their books as if the world around them didn't exist.

I stood there, watching them, feeling the stillness of the moment. Their happiness radiated like sunlight filtering through the heavy library air. There was something so simple about it—so unguarded and fleeting—that it stopped me in my tracks.

My mind began to hum, an almost imperceptible pull of thought. I didn't know them, and yet something about the way they existed in that moment together stirred something deep within me—a glitch in the rhythm of my purpose, an unfamiliar ache that I couldn't name.

It wasn't envy, not exactly. It was... curiosity. A need to understand the ease with which they found solace in each other. To understand how it felt to be seen like that, wholly and without hesitation.

"Does he have any parents here with him?" a faint voice of a woman floated down the aisle. It drew my attention immediately, sharp and clear against the soft rustle of the library around me. I turned toward it and began to walk, my focus narrowing on the sound.

As I moved closer, the walls began to speak their own language—words scrawled in hurried loops, diagrams of problems and fragmented solutions scattered across the surfaces. It was Five's writing. Everywhere. His mind splintered and laid bare for anyone to see.

Then I saw him. A woman was stepping away, shaking her head, and I moved past her. Five sat slumped on the floor against the wall, his small frame curled around a mannequin dressed in a blouse. Dolores. His arm was wrapped protectively around her, even in his sleep.

I took in the scene slowly. The clutter around him—the scattered papers, a clipboard lying forgotten at his side, pen marks smudged across his hands. His handwriting, bold and frantic, was scrawled across the loose sheets. An empty whiskey bottle dangled precariously from his other hand, his fingers barely gripping it.

I walked toward him, kneeling down slowly. I pressed two fingers against his chest, over his heart. The beat was rapid, strained from the alcohol coursing through his small, overworked body.

I stared at his face for a moment. His features, sharp and guarded even in his sleep, now looked soft. Vulnerable. He was exhausted, lines of tension etched into his brow even as he rested.

Without thinking, I lowered myself beside him, crossing my legs as I settled into the floor at his side. The book I had been carrying, Y/n's book, rested gently on my lap. I didn't touch him or disturb the fragile peace of his slumber—I simply stayed there, my presence an unspoken vigil.

Seconds passed in silence. The library faded into a quiet hum around us. Then, without warning, I felt a weight shift. His head leaned against my shoulder. I froze for a moment, looking down at him. His breathing was steady now, the frantic beat of his heart calming against my proximity.

I stayed still, listening. His heart, his breath, the soft sound of sleep—it was all so achingly human. And though I knew I was not, in this moment I felt tethered to it, bound to his fragility and strength alike.

Slowly, I tilted my head, letting it rest gently against his. I felt the warmth of him beneath my temple, his pulse steadying into something calm, rhythmic, sure. My systems quieted, as if syncing to the measured beat of his heart.

For the first time, I allowed myself to stay still—not to calculate, not to process, but simply to be. And in that silence, with his head against my shoulder and mine against his, I felt something settle. Something I couldn't name but didn't need to.

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WORDS WRITTEN:
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