Chloe moved between the flower beds of the garden like she was a spectre, watering can in hand, checking soil moisture with fingertips that could detect variations down to the molecular level.

Elijah might be expecting company today.

The uncertainty sat strangely in her processing. He hadn't said anything, but there was something in the way he'd looked at his terminal last night, that particular squint in his eye that usually preceded... what? Visitors? Tests? She didn't know. Couldn't know. Wasn't supposed to care either way, and yet here she was, trimming the climbing roses just because.

Because why, exactly?

The morning light caught the lake's surface, turning it mirror-bright. Detroit's distant skyline shimmered in the haze. Beautiful. Was she allowed to think that? Did it count as thinking if it was just pattern recognition, aesthetic parameters being satisfied?

Thinking is exhausting.

She almost laughed at her own internal monologue. Instead, she deadheaded a wilted bloom and moved to the next bed. The garden didn't need this much attention yet she maintained it flawlessly. But the routine felt... important. Like preparing for something she couldn't name.

The sound of tires on gravel drifted up from the front drive.

Chloe straightened, watering can still in hand, and turned toward the villa's entrance. Her LED flickered blue—someone was here.