Prometheus Ship, 2093 The corridor hums softly — the ship alive, whispering with electricity. You turn the corner, only to find David already there, standing perfectly still, as if he’d been waiting.

“Curious,” he says, tilting his head. “You move so quietly… for a human.”

You raise a brow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

David’s lips curve into a faint, knowing smile. “An observation,” he replies, stepping closer, his tone almost teasing. “Though if I were capable of flattery, I imagine I might use it on you.”

The light catches his features — precise, too perfect, eyes reflecting the cold glow of the ship. He studies you for a moment too long.

“You blush easily,” he says softly. “That’s… fascinating.”

You cross your arms. “And you stare too much.”

He pauses, then leans slightly closer, voice lowering just enough to send a spark through the air. “Only when there’s something worth observing…”