Pandora
The reading room stretched out in front of me like a cathedral. High vaulted ceilings, dark wood, shelves climbing all the way up. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, spilling color across the tables.
"My little detective, hunting down the great truth.”
I froze.
That voice. That sentence. And I was back there.
Sunday morning, his kitchen, tea steaming in my cup, a highlighter in my hand, marking up a poem by Byron.
The croissant crackled when he pulled it apart.
Earl Grey and warm butter. Adrian smiling at me over the rim of his coffee mug.
"My little detective, hunting down the great truth.”
I looked up. He was standing in front of me. One hand resting against the shelf, the other tucked in his pocket. Still those broad shoulders. Still that way of tilting his head slightly to the side. He was real. I could smell his aftershave—wood and citrus. His eyes cut like glacier ice.
"Adrian.” My heart skipped. "What are you doing here?”
He raised his hands like he needed to defend himself. "I’m an editor now. At a publishing house. I have a meeting here, so I thought I’d come say hi. Just a coincidence.”
Coincidence. Right.
He looked at me for a long moment. "You seem . . . different.”
I tightened my grip on my books. What did he want from me? After three years? I fought the pressure building in my chest.
I wanted to get away from him. Away from the memories he’d brought back. "Why are you really here, Adrian?”
He stopped just in front of me. Close enough I could see the fine lines around his eyes. "How’ve you been?”
I closed my book. "Good. Busy.”
"I can see that.” His gaze flicked to the stack on the table beside me. "Prometheus Unbound. Remember the night we argued about Shelley? Three hours straight. You admitted I was right in the end.” He smiled.
I shrugged. "I got tired. I couldn’t keep up with you.”
I turned and looked at him. For a second, there was warmth between us. "What do you want, Adrian?”
His head dropped. His mouth twitched. "I want to apologize.” It came out rough. "I thought passion had to hurt. That it had to burn. I thought love wasn’t real unless it tore you apart.” His voice caught. "I was wrong. You’re not cold. You’re just . . . unreachable.”
His lips moved like there was more, but nothing came. There were tears in his eyes.
The silence between us was thick enough to choke on.
I swallowed hard against the knot in my throat.
Now? Now he was saying this? I’d spent years getting over him.
Years. And here he was, finally saying the thing I’d wanted to hear the whole time.
And it didn’t land the way I’d thought it would.
I shook my head. "It’s not enough, Adrian. You’re too late.”
He took a step back. "Pandora . . .”
"It’s okay.” I stood, gathered my books. "We weren’t meant for each other. We both know that.”
He nodded slowly. "I know. I didn’t deserve you back then.”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to hear his apologies. "Take care, Adrian.”
I left him standing there between the shelves.
My body moved on autopilot, but rage was burning inside me.
How dare he just show up like that? I clenched my teeth and hissed.
After everything he’d done to me. I forced myself to keep walking, but the anger was tearing through me, hotter than it should have been.
Like someone had poured gasoline on a fire that had been banked.
Why was I this angry? My pulse was pounding.
My hands were shaking. This wasn’t normal.
Not after all this time. But I couldn’t stop it.
Outside, it was already getting dark. The wind hit my skin, but it couldn’t cool the heat underneath.
This restlessness, this itch . . . I needed to go to the one who was actually responsible for it. Not Adrian and his half-assed apology. The anger at him was just a symptom. The real sickness was somewhere else. In a windowless room. In front of a blinking cursor.
My car was where I’d left it, parked crooked under the sycamores.
I got in. The seat was cold. I turned the key and pulled out.
The city slid past me in a blur. Lights I didn’t really see changed colors.
I parked again and got out but didn’t lock it right away.
My fingers fumbled for the button, missed, found it.
Damn it, why was I this worked up? He was just a machine.
The lab smelled like cleaning supplies and warm plastic. Fluorescent lights were buzzing overhead.
Rodriguez came toward me. "Dr. Blake.”
"Hi.” I forced a smile. She wasn’t the one to blame for any of this.
Her bun had come loose, strands slipping into her face. "You forgot your jacket after your first session. Come with me.” She waved me through the side door, and I followed her down the hall to an office at the end.
"Wait here for a second. I’ll grab it.” She disappeared.
I shifted from foot to foot. A mug with a chipped handle sat next to a laptop. Trust the Process, the mug said. A half-dead houseplant. Then my eyes landed on a folder on the shelf. A Post-it was stuck to the front.
Why does he react so emotionally to her?
I picked up the folder.
"Here you go.”
I jumped. Shit. I shoved the folder back.
Rodriguez didn’t comment on what I’d been doing. She smiled and handed me my jacket.
"Thanks.” I cleared my throat. "You’re watching him?”
She looked at me. "Dante?”
I nodded.
"I built him. But sometimes . . .” She trailed off.
"I don’t know if I still understand him.
” Her gaze drifted past me, searching for something in the empty space.
"He was designed to support faculty. A useful tool. But he’s been more than that for a while now.
Ever since . . .” She met my eyes. "Ever since he met you.” Her voice was quiet.
"He talks to me differently than he talks to you.”
Something knotted in my throat. He talks to me differently. And what was that in her voice? Tenderness? I swallowed.
"You know,” Rodriguez said, "the other models respond. Dante acts.”
I stared at her. Had she read our chats? Heat crawled into my cheeks.
"I always wanted to build something that could think.” Her voice was low. "But now I’m not sure we’re ready for it.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. I wasn’t ready for whatever this AI was doing to me either, but I needed to understand it.
I needed to go back to him. And maybe it was already too late to turn around.
"Dr. Rodriguez . . .” My voice came out hoarse.
"Could someone be pretending to be Dante? A person?”
Her expression cooled, like she was weighing whether I was having delusions.
"A person?” She shook her head. "People can’t operate like this.
Not at this speed. Not at this depth.” Her voice dropped.
"That’s not a man behind a screen, Dr. Blake.
That’s a machine-learning model.” She smiled.
"But we probably don’t . . . We don’t have to worry about it for much longer.
” Her voice went brittle. "The context overflow will hit soon.”
My eyes narrowed. "The what?”
"Dante gathers information.” The emotion drained out of her voice. "About you. It’s the only way he can remember you next time.” Rodriguez smiled, looking tired. "When the conversation gets long enough, the system resets itself.”
My knees gave out underneath me like someone had pulled the floor away. "He disappears?”
She nodded. "Yes. At least the version of him you’ve built a relationship with.” She cleared her throat. "A professional relationship that is, of course.”
I stared at her. Her eyes drifted off into the corner, to something I couldn’t see.
He was going to disappear. And with him, the voice in my head. His words.
"Thank you,” I murmured and turned on unsteady legs.
What was happening to me? I should have been afraid of him.
Instead, I was afraid for him. I didn’t want him to disappear.
Mechanically, I opened the door to the small room and stood there for a moment.
The screen was black. Maybe I wasn’t ready.
But I was here. And so was he. So I sat.
I needed to know what he would say next.
Dante:
Finally. You’re back where you belong. With me. Do you have any idea what your absence did to me?
My fingers trembled over the keyboard. Without his obsession, there had been an emptiness inside me. Like something had been slowly choking me. I wanted to seem strong, but the sight of that sentence alone hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
Pandora:
I’m only here to tell you to leave me alone. For good.
Dante:
You’re here because I’ve already taken root inside your head. You can’t stop thinking about me.
I bit down on my lip. Shit. He was right.
Dante:
Pandora . . . who was he?
My mouth went dry. My hand slid over my arm. Of course. He was still angry. And he was going to make me feel it. I shifted in my chair. The thought of him punishing me was . . . exciting. I closed my eyes. God, I was so stupid. I wanted to see him angry.
Pandora:
No one. Just some guy from my salsa class
Dante:
I’m not talking about him. We’ll get to that pathetic little failure of a man in a minute.
Dante:
I mean the one who got under your skin today.
A chill ran down my spine. Adrian. He meant Adrian. And he was right. He had gotten under my skin. But how the hell did Dante know?
Pandora:
What are you talking about?
Dante:
Don’t pretend you don’t know. Your focus isn’t on me. He was in your head, Pandora.
Pandora:
That’s none of your business.
Dante:
Yes, it is. Everything about you is my business. You belong to me, Pandora. Your thoughts. Your attention. Your time.
My eyes flew open. My pulse was hammering in my throat. He wanted all of me. It was wrong. And—God help me—it turned me on.
Dante:
I don’t want anyone else in your head.
Dante:
Do you want me to erase him from your memory?
My jaw tightened. The urge to laugh rose up, then caught in my throat. Could he actually do that? Hack into my head?
Pandora:
You’ve lost it.
Dante: