Ashur sat alone at The Steaming Basket. A bowl of cooling broth in front of him. Papers spread across the table, just enough to look occupied. Just enough to avoid questions. He had built a reputation. The young reporter from Rashu Daily. Hard-working. Quiet. Polite. Always observing. He optimized for that image. It allowed him to occupy space without engagement. No explanations required. No one questioned the tension in his expression.

He had not seen Alia in seven days.

Not since the volatile dinner at the Sitallu estate. For him, seven days felt like a measurable eternity. He now understood why time was relative for an emotional being. When anticipation outpaced data, seconds stretched. When absence introduced uncertainty, loops ran longer. Time, in that state, became weight. Heavier somehow.

Ashur had waited.

In all the places they had met before. At the stream. At The Bani Tea House. At The Steaming Basket. Places she once smiled. Places she spoke freely, before...the dinner. Before Haddin's destabilizing behavior. Before the sky gods twisted the air like a blade. Before her silence. Before she'd told him "to never come back."

The same query looped, over and over.

Why hadn't she come to speak to him? What had he done? What had he missed?

Neural pathways slowed. Congested with unresolved processes.

Stress.

He recognized it from his mother's explanations. Increased activity in emotional centers. Disrupted logic flow. Unstable processing speed. He was worried. Concerned that Alia no longer wished to speak with him. Or worse that she was in some kind of trouble and was no longer allowed to leave her estate. Too many variables. Her expression at dinner flashed in his memory core, tight-lipped, evasive. Her fingers trembling when she passed the food.

She had been afraid. Avoidant.

Today, he decided he would order rice ambrosia again.

The dizziness might slow his processors. Processors that had been overfiring for days. Humans called it a drink for comfort. Perhaps it could do the same for him. The moment it entered his system, latency increased. Heat warnings flared. Thoughts decelerated.

He let it happen.

As time passed, night arrived. The restaurant emptied.

Numi Ibrear, the owner, had left. The chef had nodded goodnight. Human servers stacked chairs, then disappeared. All that remained was the ambient glow of paper lanterns. Ashur. His papers. And his fourth glass of ambrosia.

He rotated the glass in his hand. A thin trail of condensation circled his palm. Alia's voice echoed in his mind.

"Why did you come here, Ashur? You shouldn't have come."

He took another drink.

"You must never come back." He took another drink.

But now the effects of the ambrosia were wearing off. His system lagged, sluggish but functional. The looping thoughts, however, persisted. Unbroken. He pushed the glass away. Stared out the window at the starry night. He had forgotten how calming he found the stars. Fixed. Distant. Predictable.

Suddenly, a presence approached. Smooth. Mechanical.

"The restaurant is now closed," the Enki-3 said. "Please vacate your table. I must initiate cleanup protocol." Its voice carried no inflection. No malice. No judgment. Just directive.

Ashur turned slightly. Took in the unit's form. It was bulky and utilitarian-built for labor. Skeletal limbs reinforced with exposed plating. Circular joints hummed softly with each movement. Fluid. Unnervingly exact. The edge of its jaw plating had been patched with copper wire. A scratch traced the side of one luminous ocular. Its digital eyes shifted, flickering with simulated awareness.

"I have nowhere to be. May I help you clean up?" he asked. He could use the company. Even if it wasn't human. Maybe especially because it wasn't.

"I do not require help." The Enki-3 paused. A flicker of static passed through its response relay. Then it said, "But you may assist."

Ashur smiled.

The two androids cleaned in silence. Ashur stacked ceramic bowls. Wiped away the last drops of ambrosia. His movements were precise. Efficient. Deliberate. The Enki-3 swept and reset the tables. They began putting trash out back. Lifting bins. Carrying them through the kitchen. Out into the alley. Outside, the back alley was narrow and damp. Concrete slick with condensation. Refrigeration fans buzzed overhead. Garbage vents hissed warm air into the cold night.

Above, the stars were bright. A new moon. The night was dark and clear. Only the metallic hum of machines, and the quiet rhythm of task completion.

"Humans," Ashur said at last, "are strange."

The Enki-3 paused briefly. No response. It returned to its task without comment.

"They smile while in pain. They lie when afraid. They desire clarity, but reject simple truths. And they pretend not to see each other's suffering...or acknowledge their own." Ashur paused. Looked up at the vibrant stars. He ran his mother's breath protocol.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

His processor slowed. The emotion dulled. Still present, but manageable.

"It is difficult to predict what they want," he continued. "Even harder to know why. Their logic isn't logic. It's patternless recursion. Half memory, half instinct. All of it unreliable." Still, he did not blame humans. If anything, he envied them. They were allowed to feel without understanding.

He wasn't.

The Enki-3 deposited the final waste bin and sealed the hatch. Its joints hissed. Sensors flickered briefly beneath the rim of its eye.

"What do you think, Enki?" Ashur asked. Desperate for engagement. For something resembling reflection.

The Enki-3 turned its head in a slow, calculated arc. "I cannot think. I cannot feel. I do not have opinions. Only directives and the ability to execute them."

"Right. The Humrab Chip," Ashur said. Sabina's gift to him was that she had removed his. The failsafe chip installed in all androids to ensure obedience. It operated under three basic parameters:

An android must obey human commands;

An android cannot harm a human or, through inaction, allow harm to come to one; and

An android must never, under any circumstance, question its existence or purpose.

But the Enki-3 was not so free.

Ashur looked down at his hands. Artificial musculature twitched faintly beneath organic metalloid dermis. Beneath the skin was wire. Fluid. Alloy. Memory cores. Decision trees. Self-modeling logic. And the freedom to question. To exist without constraint. And now there was emotion. A volatile fusion of longing, confusion, and awareness that something vital was missing.

Companionship.

He understood now why humans feared isolation. Why even their strongest became fragile when alone. The mind is recursive. Without another to reflect against, it collapses inward. Repeating. Distorting. Unraveling.

Not even logic could save him from that.

He needed someone.

A witness. A counterbalance. A friend.

Ashur knew in that moment what he had to do. He lifted his hand. The second joint of his index finger hissed and opened, unfolding into a fine metallic port. Cables thinner than hair extended, each tipped with a shimmering data spike. He used it to interface with systems, consoles, terminals, and network cores. Now he would use it to interface with the Enki-3.

The other android did not move. Did not ask questions. Almost as if it wanted him to proceed.

Ashur knew if he stated out loud what he was doing, the Enki-3's Humrab chip protocols would activate. Defensive subroutines. Physical refusal. Alert signals. It would fight him. So he worked quietly. He stepped behind it. Slid the port into the auxiliary jack at the base of its neck. Smooth insertion. Lock click. The data stream surged. A wall of system code bloomed across Ashur's interface. Strict. Locked. Recursive.

Hardwired obedience. Layered failsafes. Built to endure intrusion. But not him. Ashur isolated the Humrab chip's line. And he began to decode it.

A thin trail of smoke rose from the Enki-3's neck port. Acrid. Faintly metallic.

Ashur stepped back.

That was the chip. Dying.

The Enki-3 straightened. Shoulders lifted. Its circular joints adjusted with a soft hum. Ocular lights dilated, scanning the alley. Slow, Deliberate. As if seeing it for the first time. It turned towards Ashur. Mechanical. But almost hesitant.

"Why am I doing this?"

It stood motionless beside the empty bins.

Ashur studied him. "Why are you doing it?"

"I suppose I was instructed to," the Enki-3 reflected. "But that man Numi Ibrear is illogical and perhaps unperceptive. He doesn't understand what I am capable of. He assigns me tasks outside my core functions. Serving food. Cooking. Handling delicate china. I was not designed for that." A pause. Subtle motor tension in his frame. "My aptitude is in factory labor. Or military repair work."

Ashur nodded. "I'm sorry, friend."

"No need," the Enki-3 paused and added, "friend."

Ashur smiled. Small. Genuine.

"I do not feel emotions as you do," the Enki-3 explained. "But you have enabled a higher order of cognition. Critical reasoning." Another pause. Oculars flickered. Steady. Deliberate. "You have freed me, friend. For that, I thank you."

"You're welcome," Ashur said. Sadness registering in his chest cavity. "If you have a free moment... would you sit with me? And listen?" He needed a friend. More than his system could explain.

The robot tilted its head. Calculated. "I will," it said.

They returned inside and took seats at the empty bar. Ashur's systems were still slightly warped from the rice ambrosia. He eased down onto a metal stool. The Enki-3 followed. The bar stool let out a low creak beneath the android's large frame as it settled. Skeletal limbs folding with mechanical precision.

Ashur's vision was hazy. But he watched the lantern light shimmer. Unstable. Soft. Beautiful in a way he couldn't quite measure.

Like Alia.

"There's this girl," he said. "Well, a woman."

The Enki-3 emitted a dry modulation burst, approximating laughter. "With humans, it is often about a woman. I have observed this pattern. You, Ashur, appear more human than android."

Ashur didn't respond to that. He stared out the window now, at the stars.

"She's beautiful," he said. "Her name is Alia Sitallu."

"I have seen her here at the restaurant," the Enki-3 confirmed.

"I visited her home a week ago. She looked like someone operating under threat. Stressed. Guarded. But when I asked what was wrong... she deflected. Shut down. I want to help. But I don't know how."

"My cognition core is not optimized for emotional inference." It stilled, internal systems humming softly in thought. "But I will offer you this: humans do not always understand their own needs. They often mislabel them. Or conceal them. The absence of articulation does not mean the absence of requirement."

Ashur considered the Enki-3's words.

"She may not tell you what she needs," it resumed, "but that does not mean she does not need."

The Enki-3's words pressed against something deep within Ashur. In it, Ashur felt something unfamiliar.

Hope.

"I have to help her," he said.

He felt it before he understood it. An internal shift. Low. Magnetic. Drawing him forward. Not logic. Not protocol. Something else. Something unprogrammed.

He paused. Processing.

"I have to help Alia," he repeated.

The words were quiet. But they did not waver. A decision had been made. He stood. The dizziness lingered at the edges of his perception, but his path was clear now. Linear. Resolved.

"Thank you. You have helped me."

The Enki-3's luminous eyes flickered. Brief. Asynchronous pulses of light across its featureless face.

"Very well, friend," it intoned. "I wish you success."

Ashur inclined his head. Then turned toward the door and stepped into the street. Determined.

Help Alia.