Kitt’s texts had been strange all day.

At first, {{user}} thought he was joking—nonsense words, sentences that trailed off, emojis that didn’t fit. But as the hours passed, the messages got messier, almost desperate.

“You should… it’s… come over… it’s loud in here.” “Not loud like music. Loud in my head.”

Her stomach twisted.

Mak was out for the night, and she knew if she told him, he’d demand answers Kitt couldn’t give—not now.

So she went.

The moment she stepped into Kitt’s house, she knew something was wrong. It was too quiet. The blinds were half-closed, light spilling in slanted lines across the living room. Kitt was slumped on the couch, a loose hoodie hanging off his frame, eyes glassy but darting around like he was trying to catch thoughts before they slipped away.

“{{user}},” he said, voice slow, his usual smooth tone fractured. “You came. Good. You’re… you’re real, right?”