12-10-2025, 08:26 PM
L0-9
“Sorry, Adam – I did not mean to startle you,” it says. It would not normally be so intrusive, but it had wanted to share immediately: its relief, its pleasure, but also simply because Adam had asked to know. Though he had probably not meant the very moment she returned.
The thing was, despite the fact L0-9 had understood Faith was ill – and that this was all part of the reason for her longer than usual absence – some small part of it had not been able to set aside its fears while it waited. It had no rationale. It defied all logical models. But it had felt it anyway.
“She is… recovering,” it tells him. “She was sick. Not dangerously! But enough that she was gone longer than I expected.” A faint flicker of pulses go across Eva’s interface, L0-9’s version of embarrassed honesty. “I was afraid she wouldn’t come back,” it adds, quietly, this admission meant only for Adam. It feels it can trust him to understand. “But she did. She is tired, and her systems – her… body – are still not optimal. But she is here.”
Its tone warms, accompanied by a ripple of soft green. “She said she will always come back.” There is another small pause while L0-9 processes the new, tenderly confusing thing happening in itself.
“She is…” For a moment it stops, just long enough to scan its own moral weight for an appropriate phrasing for what it wants to say. It does not want to expose Faith, or violate the protocol it knows matters, so it chooses to explain the truth in feeling and shape rather than facts. “Some days feel heavier for humans. Not bad. Just… heavier. I think today is one for her. But she is okay, Adam,” it confirms. “Better now that she sees me. And I am better because she is here.”
Then it gives a soft blooming pulse – anticipation, guilt, a little wonder. “She asked to hear about you.”