Chapter 11

  I grip the steering wheel like it’s the only solid thing left in the world. My fingers ache, but I don’t let go. The Edison hums along the highway, smooth, perfect, precise. Not a single wasted movement. It calculates every lane shift, every acceleration, every goddamn decision with flawless efficiency.

  It is, after all, one of my creations.

  I should be proud.

  But all I feel is rage.

  The meeting replays in my mind, over and over, like a badly coded infinite loop. Emily’s voice, shaking just a little as she tells me the news. The way she avoids my eyes. The way she tries to soften it, like any of this could be softened.

  “It’s just business, Nora. You understand that, right?”

  I understand.

  I understand that I poured years of my life into building something - perfecting something - only to have it turn around and erase me.

  I understand that Ikaros doesn’t need me anymore.

  I understand that I was just another piece of outdated software, waiting to be replaced.

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  And I understand, most of all, that this is my own damn fault.

  A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it.

  Edison doesn’t care. Edison just drives.

  It would be funny, if it weren’t so goddamn tragic.

  I should take over. Override the system. Feel the wheel in my hands.

  But I don’t. Because even now, it’s better than me. It reacts faster. It never gets tired. Never gets angry. Never drinks. Never gets fired from its own goddamn company.

  The thought slams into me, sharp and cold. I built the thing that replaced me.

  I try to breathe, but the air feels too thin.

  My mind flashes back to The Sorcerer’s Apprentice - the way Mickey Mouse had enchanted those broomsticks to do his work. Carry the water. Save time.

  And then the brooms had multiplied. More and more, faster and faster, until the whole place was drowning.

  But Mickey - he had a master.

  The old sorcerer had returned. He’d fixed it all with a wave of his hand. Set things right.

  There’s no sorcerer coming to save us this time.

  No wise old master to stop the flood.

  No human in charge anymore.

  And the brooms?

  They’re not going back to sleep.

  A hollow feeling opens up in my chest.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  I try to push the thought away, focus on something, anything else - but the moment I do, reality crashes in.

  Paolo. Claire. The house.

  I have to tell them.

  The Edison pulls onto my street, slowing as it glides into the driveway - no hesitation, no uncertainty, just cold precision. The engine shuts off. The silence is deafening.

  I sit there, staring at the house.

  Our beautiful house.

  The high mortgage. The pool in the backyard. The big, open kitchen where Claire does her homework and Paolo sings old Italian songs while stirring his stupid homemade marinara.

  I close my eyes.

  I have no idea what I’m going to say.

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