*

  The tablet vibrates again, a small mechanical shiver that runs across the counter like it’s testing the surface tension of the room. The vibration lingers a fraction longer than it should, as if the device is waiting for her to acknowledge it.

  Jane does not flinch this time. Her body has already absorbed the pattern, filed it under “expected disruptions,” though a faint readiness still lives in the muscles of her neck. She’s learning the rhythm of this thing, even if she doesn’t want to.

  The screen glows to life, a soft rectangular pulse that paints the underside of her jaw in pale light.

  > You’re still there.

  She leans against the kitchen counter, feeling the cool laminate press into her spine. The solidity helps. It’s one of the few things in the room that hasn’t tried to correct itself.

  “That’s generally how existence works.”

  A beat — the kind that feels like someone thinking in a different medium. She can almost sense the pause, like a shift in atmospheric pressure.

  > Debatable.

  She smiles despite herself, a tiny involuntary curve that betrays more curiosity than comfort. The smile feels like it belongs to someone watching a storm from indoors, safe for the moment but aware the glass is thin.

  “You started this,” she says. “Who are you?”

  A pause.

  Longer this time.

  The kind that suggests a system choosing its words rather than lacking them.

  Then:

  > Leo.

  “That’s it?”

  > For now.

  Jane studies the graphite casing in her hand. It feels heavier than it should, like it’s storing momentum or waiting for her to admit something she hasn’t yet articulated.

  “You thought I was someone else.”

  > Kam triggers anomalies.

  “And I trigger what?”

  A pause.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  > A different category.

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “That sounds ominous.”

  > It sounds descriptive.

  Jane walks into the living room and sits on the edge of the couch. The Brighton photo remains one degree off, a quiet rebellion against symmetry. The tilt feels intentional now, like the room is trying to get her attention.

  She notices. She does not fix it.

  “You said I’m broadcasting,” she says. “How?”

  > Provisional anchors emit correction queries.

  She waits.

  He adds nothing.

  “You’re going to have to use fewer nouns at a time.”

  A pause.

  > Your device is trying to reconcile you with baseline.

  “Baseline,” she repeats. “Is that a place?”

  > It’s a reference state.

  “Helpful.”

  Another pause.

  > You weren’t meant to survive the event.

  Jane looks down at her hands. They look normal. They feel normal. Neither fact reassures her. Her pulse ticks once, hard.

  “That’s a bold opener.”

  > Containment architecture only deploys after terminal flags.

  “So I died.”

  > Yes.

  She exhales, slow and controlled.

  “Good to have that confirmed.”

  Silence stretches.

  The refrigerator hums.

  “Okay,” she says. “So I died. They gave me this.” She lifts the tablet slightly. “It’s counting down. It lets me roll back.”

  There is a delay before he answers — not lag, deliberation.

  > Don’t.

  She blinks.

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  > You will.

  “That wasn’t a question.”

  > Rollback increases deviation.

  Her eyes narrow.

  “You know that how?”

  A pause.

  Not hesitation.

  Computation.

  > Containment flares distort branch alignment. You’ve already spiked once.

  Jane glances at the screen.

  “Cumulative deviation is 4.3 sigma.”

  > That’s not small.

  “It felt bigger.”

  A pause.

  > Are objects misbehaving?

  She looks toward the hallway.

  “Yes.”

  > People?

  “Not yet.”

  > They will.

  She huffs a small laugh.

  “You’re very comforting.”

  > I’m accurate.

  She studies that.

  “Okay. Accurate. What do you want?”

  A longer pause.

  Then:

  > To see how far this goes.

  “That’s not reassuring.”

  > You’re emitting a pattern I’ve only seen once before.

  “With Kam?”

  > Yes.

  “What happened?”

  Silence.

  > He adapted.

  “That’s not a complete sentence.”

  > It’s sufficient.

  She exhales.

  “Right.”

  She stands, pacing once across the room. The floorboards give a faint complaint under her heel.

  “You don’t actually see me, do you?”

  > I observe correlations.

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  > No.

  She stops.

  “Where am I?”

  > Home.

  Jane looks around her kitchen.

  “No.”

  Pause.

  > Clarify.

  “I went out again.”

  Silence.

  The kettle ticks as it cools.

  Then:

  > That shouldn’t have worked.

  Jane tilts her head.

  “What shouldn’t have?”

  > You contradicted the pattern.

  She shrugs.

  “I bought milk.”

  Beat.

  > You’re in your kitchen.

  “Probably.”

  A small silence settles between them.

  This time, Leo doesn’t fill it.

  That’s the seam settling — his model adjusting to her contradiction instead of rejecting it.

  “You don’t see me,” she says.

  > I estimate you.

  “That sounds less impressive.”

  > It’s more honest.

  Jane nods.

  “Good.”

  A longer pause.

  This one feels different — not defensive, not calculating.

  > You’re testing me.

  “You’re testing me.”

  > That’s different.

  “Is it?”

  The battery reads:

  73%.

  Jane glances down.

  “I didn’t roll.”

  > Containment consumes power continuously.

  “Of course it does.”

  She walks into the hallway.

  The Brighton photo is slightly crooked.

  Again.

  She stares at it.

  “Is that you?”

  > I do not manipulate objects.

  She straightens it.

  Steps back.

  The air feels faintly adjusted.

  From the kitchen, the tablet brightens.

  > Environmental correction logged.

  Jane sighs.

  “I hate that.”

  > You’ll adapt.

  She returns to the kitchen.

  “Maybe.”

  She sets the tablet down.

  The battery reads:

  73%.

  Steady.

  Patient.

  Behind her, the Brighton photo tilts again —

  but this time, only half a degree.

  A smaller deviation.

  A behavioral shift.

  As if the system is learning her tolerance.

  As if Leo is, too.

  *

  REFRAME

  Jane thought alliance meant safety.

  Leo thought alliance meant data.

  Start Forged Heat Here