Adam stood alone in the foyer of his father’s office block. Rain lashed against the tall glass windows, and a thin film of water had seeped inside, coating the smooth concrete floor in a slick, treacherous sheen. A small cleaning robot whirred and buzzed, doing its best to mop it up. Adam barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere.

  How did Ethan Stipe know his name?

  Then it clicked—Occam’s Razor. Sophia’s favourite principle: The simplest explanation is usually the right one. She must have told him. There was no other way.

  Adam’s heart began to race as he dialled Ethan’s number. His throat went dry. One ring. Then a crisp, professional voice:

  “Hello, Ethan Stipe.”

  “So, Ethan,” Adam began, his voice tight. “Yes. Adam, that is my name. Sophia must’ve tipped you off. But before I tell you how hacked you—and more importantly, how to stop anyone else from doing it—I have one condition.”

  He paused. One breath. One moment. One decision.

  “No publicity. None. I don’t want my name mentioned. Is that clear? That’s my deal.”

  A silence followed. So absolute, Adam thought the line had gone dead.

  Then Ethan’s voice, calm and measured:

  “Yeah. That’s fine. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Sophia was still in the junkyard as night began to fall. Most of the staff had already left—the storm was expected to worsen—but Sophia remained. Eli brought her food, which she ate quickly, washing down the final bite with antiviral pills and a sip of chicory coffee—the only kind still widely available in New York.

  Afterwards, she asked Eli to leave her alone. Her presence, however kind, only deepened her sense of despair. Their conversations always circled back to her illness, her slow deterioration. Or worse, Eli would mention some new treatment—another supposed breakthrough. It was always the same: no clinical trials, no real hope.

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  So, with a gentle embrace and a soft kiss, Eli left her to her work—alone with the soft blue glow of the monitors, the blinking lights of robotic limbs laid out on tables, and the steady bubbling of oxygen and nutrient fluids nourishing skin grafts in sterile frames.

  Her phone pinged. A message.

  ADAM: I know you told Ethan Stipe about the hack.

  That was all it said. No exclamation mark. No angry paragraph about betrayal. No explanation. Just ten words. It was so brief, it confused her. How angry was he?

  About an hour later, she heard his footsteps—Adam’s—echoing through the concrete floors of the lab. She braced herself, expecting confrontation, accusations, rage.

  But when she looked up, there was no fury in his eyes.

  Only kindness. And pity.

  And that, more than any argument, wounded her pride. He didn’t want to fight with the dying girl. That was it.

  “What are you doing?” Adam asked, voice low, barely rising above the hum of the servers.

  “I want to finish a production-ready prototype... before I die,” Sophia replied.

  She hadn’t meant to cry, but the tears came anyway—uninvited, unwelcome. Just saying the word die cracked something fragile inside her.

  Adam gave her a soft smile. “Okay... how far have you got?”

  “Pretty far, actually,” she said, trying to compose herself. “I’m using my own stem cells. I cleaned them—removed the viruses. They’re growing in the incubator now.”

  She didn’t mention how much she was growing. He’d object. He would.

  “I’m making a hybrid clone. Of me,” she added, voice trembling. “Something to look after my interests... when I’m gone.”

  The words hovered in the air, then dissolved into the gentle static hum of the lab.

  Adam didn’t know what to say. So he nodded.

  “Sorry I contacted Ethan,” Sophia said quietly.

  Adam smiled. “It’s okay. I was going to do it anyway...”

  He hesitated, then added with a faint grin, “How does it feel to be rich?”

  Sophia gave a sad smile. “The greatest wealth is health. If I weren’t ill, it’d be great. But... it still helps. A lot.”

  Adam nodded sympathetically.

  “You made the right call, Adam,” she said softly. “Do you think he’ll invest in our bots?”

  “We can ask. No harm in trying. But it’s a competitive market. Big corporations are already deep into organoid-based androids. Even if ours are more... human.”

  “I made more progress today than we’ve made in years,” Sophia said, her voice lifting with cautious pride. A flicker of light crossed her face. “Necessity is the mother of invention.”

  Adam smiled. “Then let’s give invention two parents, not just a mother. Budge over.”

  He sat beside her. And together, they worked late into the night—bathed in the soft flicker of neon lights, surrounded by the hum of machines and the quiet breath of something bigger than either of them.

  A dream they both knew would outlive her.