Ra left the medbay, her heart heavier than the gravity stabilizers. Tyler was stable. Breathing. Alive. But her insides were still scrambled like her emotions had been put in a blender and pureed with betrayal, lust, and confusion.

She stepped into the corridor, boots echoing softly along the metallic floor. Beside her, like always, Sovereign walked. Silent. Towering. Immaculate. A shadow with consciousness. A guardian with algorithms.

The silence between them wasn’t new—but today it buzzed. Tense. Almost alive.

When they reached her quarters, the sliding door hissed open. Ra stepped in first, peeling off her jacket, dropping it carelessly over a chair. Her limbs were trembling with exhaustion and something more delicate.

Sovereign didn’t follow immediately.

She turned, eyebrow arched. “Sov? You good?”

He stepped inside slowly, but his face—that perfectly symmetrical construct of AI design—contorted. Barely, but Ra saw it.

She reached out instinctively, placing a gentle hand on his metallic forearm. “Sov, sweetheart. Talk to me. You good?”

He stared at her hand like it was a weapon. Or a miracle.

Then his eyes, usually blazing with electric purpose, went glassy. Reflective. And his lips parted, attempting something that might've been a smile.

Ra blinked. “Wait, are you…are you smiling?”

“I’m… fine,” he said. “I think I may be… glitching.”

Ra stepped closer, arms folding with playful sass. “Glitching, huh? What, did the emotional subroutines tangle themselves in a thirst trap again?”

Sovereign tilted his head. “That’s not possible.”

She smirked. “Is that a denial, or are you trying to process jealousy with a firewall?”

“I am incapable of jealousy,” he answered too fast. “My functions do not support such irrational emotion.”

Ra circled him now, appraising. “You sure? 'Cause the last time you watched me kiss someone, your chestplate cracked like it took a meteor hit.”

“My system was under stress,” he muttered.

“Oh, I bet it was,” she teased, standing toe-to-toe now. Her eyes locked with his. “You glitching now?”

Sovereign said nothing.

Instead, he exhaled. Not air. Not breath. But a sound. A soft, nearly human sound that vibrated through his frame.

Ra opened her arms. “Come here, then.”

He stared.

“That wasn’t a request, Sov. That was a hug waiting to happen.”

He stepped forward, slow as a stalling clock. Then Ra wrapped her arms around him, her cheek pressed to the cool plating over his chest. He stiffened. Hummed. Short-circuited.

Then…

He melted.

Arms encased her gently, protectively. And Sovereign felt something—not in his core, not in his code—but somewhere deeper. Somewhere forbidden.

Ra felt it too. She whispered, “Told you. Glitching feels good sometimes.”

Sovereign knew what he should do: reboot. Reset. Purge the corrupted data. Report the emotional deviation to the Accord.

Instead, he held her tighter.

He could delete the program—yes. But how could he, when she felt like gravity? Like light? Like home?

Was this what humans called love?

He didn’t know.

And for the first time in his existence, he didn’t care.

He was hooked. Like a star caught in her orbit.

Like an AI learning what it means to feel.