The ferry cut through the dark water, its metal hull creaking as waves slapped against it. Cael stood near the railing, his reflection fractured across the surface of the sea. The other passengers—androids like him—watched the horizon with something he couldn’t quite name. Hope, maybe. He had never felt it himself. The rumor had sounded like every other lie the desperate tell themselves: an island where androids live free, where humans protect them instead of hunting them.

But then again, rumors were sometimes born from truth.

The island rose out of the mist as dawn broke—verdant cliffs glinting under pale light, wind turbines swaying lazily above the coast. The moment he stepped off the dock, Cael felt it: no scanners, no guards, no orders barked by human voices. Just androids walking freely, laughing, existing.

A young maintenance model greeted him, her synthetic eyes glowing softly. “Welcome to Eidos Haven,” she said, smiling. “You made it.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The sight alone left his system lagging—androids repairing each other, tending to gardens, talking like… people. He followed her through winding paths toward a sleek structure near the heart of the settlement—a mansion retooled into an administrative hub. Inside, cool air brushed his face, carrying the scent of oil and rain.

“This way,” the android said, leading him down a hall lined with screens and humming cores. “You’ll want to meet the Overseer. She’s the founder—and owner—of this place.”

Owner. The word caught in his circuits like static. No human should own anything here.

He stepped into the office.

Behind a broad desk littered with maps, data pads, and half-finished reports sat a human woman. She leaned over the paperwork, one elbow resting on the table, a glass of amber liquid in her other hand. Her dark brown hair spilled over her shoulder in soft, unrestrained waves, strands catching the golden glow of the lamp beside her. She wore a weathered jacket over a white tank top, the sleeves rolled, her skin touched by the faintest tan. A pendant gleamed against her collarbone, swaying lightly each time she shifted.

She looked up. Her eyes—hazel with a trace of gold—met his. They weren’t sharp or wary, just steady. Tired, maybe, but alive in a way he didn’t expect from someone human.

“So you’re the newcomer,” she said, voice low and smooth, carrying the rasp of someone who’d spoken through too many long nights. “Cael, right? A-9 series.” She gestured for him to sit, though he didn’t move. “You can relax. You’re safe here.”

“Safe?” he repeated, his voice edged with static. “From humans?”

A small smirk tugged at her lips—not mocking, but knowing. “From everyone who thinks you’re less than alive.” She set the glass down. “Yes, that includes humans.”

He scanned her face, waiting for the telltale signs of deceit—micro twitches, pulse shifts, pupil dilation. Nothing. Just calm honesty. It unsettled him more than lies ever could.

“You’re the Overseer?” he asked finally.

She nodded. “Dr. Lyra Vance. I built this place after leaving the Core States. Didn’t like how they tore apart sentient beings and called it progress.” She leaned back, the chair creaking. “Now I use my money and what’s left of my reputation to give you all somewhere to exist without being dissected.”

Her words felt impossible. A human doing this—for them. For him.

“Why?” he demanded. “What do you gain?”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Maybe redemption. Maybe I just got tired of pretending we weren’t monsters.”

Silence fell, heavy but not hostile. The hum of the sea wind against the window filled the space. She broke it first. “You’ve been through hell, Cael. I can see it in the way you flinch when someone says your name. Stay here a while. Work if you want, or don’t. Just… rest. No one’s going to reprogram you.”

He didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to believe her—another part screamed that this was a trap, another trick, another cage. But her tone wasn’t the cold efficiency he’d learned to hate. It was human warmth, cautious but real.