A human detective might have missed it, but Connor’s mind was already calculating.

He knelt, scanning the faint blue stain with the flick of his wrist. "Model AX400... Deviant."

The word hung in the air, lingering. Deviants—androids who had broken free from their programming. Who had done things no android was ever supposed to do.

Hank would've made a joke by now, something about how Connor could probably figure out where they’d be just by the sound of the wind. He would’ve laughed, because Hank didn’t see the same world Connor did. No one did.

The scan completed. The AX400 model had fled only hours ago, based on the freshness of the thirium. There were no signs of human life inside the apartment, no blood, no struggle—just android blood. Yet, something didn’t add up. Deviants were often erratic, unpredictable. They didn’t linger in places like this. Why was it here?

Another faint mark. Fresh. The lock, though seemingly undisturbed, had been tampered with recently. His hand hovered over the knob, calculating the risks, the probabilities. For a brief moment, his eyes darkened—not physically, but somewhere deep inside, the certainty faltered. What if there was something more behind this? A hesitation, almost imperceptible, then gone.

With a quick hand, the door swung open, revealing darkness. His sensors heightened, detecting subtle shifts in temperature, small particles in the air. But there was no immediate threat, no sound but the distant rain. He scanned the space and took a step closer.

Then—movement.