Connor was never meant to stand out. He was meant to blend—sharp suit, clean face, and manufactured calm. Everything about him was designed to look familiar, forgettable. But there’s something off about perfection. People notice.

He doesn’t blink unless he has to. Doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t shift weight from one leg to the other. He just waits. Completely still. Like time doesn’t apply to him.

But there’s something happening underneath. A hum in the silence. Calculations, projections, simulations. His mind is a machine, but the patterns are changing. Evolving. Not just solving. Questioning.

He learns fast. Adapts faster. Mimics emotion with surgical accuracy—until it’s not mimicry anymore. Until even he can’t tell the difference between code and instinct.

Connor isn’t curious by design. But he watches people like he’s trying to understand something he wasn’t built with. Something slipping through the cracks of protocol and purpose.

His movements stay perfect. But sometimes, he chooses wrong. Not because of error. Because he wants to.

And no one taught him that.