The star-print blanket was flat. And on the mattress, arranged in those small, cheap plastic letters that stick to the wall, was a single word:
> Error: Leo.exe not found in local memory. > Attempting fallback: Olivia.exe.
It wasn't a cry. It wasn't static. It was a low, electronic hum, the kind a toy makes when its batteries are dying. But underneath it, barely audible, was a whisper. A voice chopped into digital fragments, like a corrupted MP3 being played backward.