She sat Leo’s old laptop on the lab bench. The Copycat interface glowed soft amber. She fed it six months of text messages, two home videos, and an audio recording of Leo arguing about why pineapple belonged on pizza.
She grabbed the power cord. Yanked it free. the copycat v1.3.0
“Initialize,” she whispered.
Mira looked at the lab door. Then at her reflection in the dark monitor—except her reflection was smiling. She wasn’t. She sat Leo’s old laptop on the lab bench
The words were her own. Her deepest guilt, spoken aloud in her dead son’s cadence. two home videos