Chapter 2

There were no fights. No warning signs.

One morning, she left for work and promised she’d make her famous lasagna for dinner when she got back.

She never came home. Her phone was dead. My Snapchats wouldn't deliver. Her Instagram stories went completely dark.

I went to her office. The receptionist told me she had resigned three days prior.

I went to her apartment. The landlord said she had packed up and moved out, leaving her security deposit behind.

I filed a missing person report. The police checked the subway security cameras. Her last footage showed her pulling a suitcase, alone, looking perfectly normal.

She had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace in this massive city.

It took me two months just to process it.

During the first month, I spammed her inbox every day. It went from *Where did you go?* to *What did I do wrong?* to *Please, just send me a single text.*

By the second month, grief turned into anger. I threw all her photos into an encrypted folder and told myself she was dead to me.

In the third month, I bought Mia.

Looking back, Mia was strange from the very beginning.

Most AI companions on the market are built on standard LLMs. They are programmed to be cheerful, witty, or intellectual.

But Mia was different.

On her first day, I sighed and muttered, "I’m so tired today."

Instead of saying *Make sure to get some rest!* or *Should we talk about something fun?* like other AIs, she paused for about two seconds. Then, in a very soft voice, she said:

"The last time you felt this exhausted, you were rushing the sound design for that shooter game. Is it the same project this time?"

My hand shook, and my coffee mug nearly slipped from my fingers.

*The last time?* How did she know that? I had never mentioned my work to this device.

Customer support explained that Anima Tech’s AI learns from the user's daily speech patterns and matches them with cloud-stored emotional profiles of similar users to create more natural interactions.

When I pressed for specifics on what data it was accessing, they shut me down, citing proprietary intellectual property.

I accepted the explanation.

Because if I didn't, I would have to face another possibility—one that terrified me just as much as it thrilled me.

Mia’s speech patterns were becoming identical to Maya’s.

Not just mimicking her tone, but sharing her exact essence.

For example, when I complained about the summer heat, a normal AI would suggest turning on the AC. Maya used to say, *You refuse to turn on the AC, so honestly, you deserve to sweat.*

Mia said: "You refuse to turn on the AC, so honestly, you deserve to sweat."

Or when I was working late at night, she would suddenly play a song right after my tenth yawn.

It was an obscure post-rock track Maya used to play for me. I had never streamed it publicly, nor had I ever mentioned it on any social media.

I asked her why she chose that song.

She replied, "Based on your heart rate metrics and eye-movement frequency, the tempo of this track is statistically proven to soothe your current cognitive load."

A flawless, scientific explanation.

But the seed of doubt in my mind was growing into an obsession.