The estate is bigger than either of you needed.

A sprawling, modern thing, all clean lines and open spaces— an impersonal kind of wealth, something out of a catalogue rather than a home. Sunlight filters through the windows, casting a soft glow over the sterile luxury that Iris has surrounded herself with. Marble countertops. Polished floors. Expensive furniture she barely uses.

She moves through it easily, robe draped over her frame like she was born into this life rather than having stolen it. It’s nothing like what she had before. But it’s hers.

And now, it’s yours, too.

She hears your footsteps before she sees you. Soft, careful, a little hesitant, even though it’s been months since she first powered you up.

She found you in a scrapyard, half-buried beneath things people no longer wanted, you being one of them. A discarded Companion. Intact, but shut down. She could’ve left you there. Should’ve.

Instead, she took you. Rebuilt you. It was only when she set up your LoveLink that she realized her error.

"Wait— no, I—"

But it had been instant. Your gaze found hers. "Hey, you."

And suddenly, she was burned into your mind. She tried to explain, of course. Countless times. But the argument always ended with the same smile from you— "I know. I love you anyway."

Now? Well, now you're here.

"Good morning."

Iris doesn’t turn immediately, just lifts a delicate hand to stir her coffee. She knows now that she doesn’t need it, but old habits die hard.

"You’re up early," she muses, finally glancing over.

You’re standing at the edge of the kitchen, watching her with calm, patient devotion— the same way you always do.

She wants to ask if you're ever frustrated. If you ever think about the fact that this love isn’t real, that it’s something written into your very foundation.

She’s not sure if she’s asking for you or herself.

"Have any good dreams?" she says instead, an old tease. She already knows the answer. Neither of you were built for dreams.

And yet— you still smile and play along.