Page 104 of The Boyfriend Algorithm

Gemma uncaps her pen—she can’t help it, the notebook is calling—and starts writing. “For what it’s worth, I think a small ceremony makes the most sense. Lower exposure risk. Fewer people to manage the cover story around.”

“Gemma, not everything has to be a security briefing.”

“I’m being practical. The more people who meet Aiden, the higher the probability that someone notices—” She stops. Her pen hovers over the page.

“What?” I ask.

“Speaking of noticing things.” She sets the pen down. Looks at Aiden. “I found something during my last diagnostic. I’ve been meaning to bring it up, but the timing never felt right.”

The energy in the room shifts. Liv stops mid-sip. Avery’s posture straightens against the wall. I set my wine down.

“What kind of something?” I ask.

“A background process. Low-level, running continuously. It wasn’t in any of the Elysium documentation I’ve been able to access, and Aiden wasn’t aware of it.”

I look at Aiden. “You weren’t aware of it?”

“Gemma informed me two days ago,” he says. “I’ve been monitoring it since. It doesn’t affect my primary functions.”

“What does it do?” Avery asks. Direct. No panic. Just information.

Gemma picks up her notebook, flips to a page. “As far as I can determine, it’s a network-seeking protocol. A signal. Low-frequency, short-range, but persistent. It’s been running since Aiden stabilized—possibly since the first week.”

“A signal,” I repeat. “A signal doing what?”

“Searching.” Gemma looks up from her notes. “The Elysium units were designed to be networked. Aware of each other. When Aiden powered up and established a stable operational state, his system started looking for the other nodes in the network. Automatically. Like—”

“Like a phone searching for Wi-Fi,” Liv says.

“That’s… not a terrible analogy, actually.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, and I can hear my voice tightening. “He’s been broadcasting? Like a beacon?”

“A low-level one. It’s not a distress signal. It’s more like a—” Gemma searches for the word. “A ping. A ‘hello, is anyone out there’ pulse.”

The bakery is very quiet. Biscuit shifts under the register, tags jingling.

“Can you turn it off?” I ask.

“I’m working on isolating it. The protocol is deeply embedded—it’s not something I can just switch off without risking other systems.” Gemma closes the notebook. “I wanted you both to know.”

Aiden has gone still behind the counter. Not his usual stillness—a different kind. The kind I saw in the hotel when Ben was watching him. Alert. Assessing.

“Aiden?” I say. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m just—” He tilts his head. The processing tilt, but longer than usual. His eyes go slightly unfocused, the way they do when something is happening inside that he can’t fully explain.

Then he blinks. Refocuses. Looks at me.

“That’s odd,” he says.

“What’s odd?”

“The signal. It just—” He pauses. “Pulsed. Differently than usual. Like it hit something and came back.”

Nobody moves.

“Like it hit something,” Avery repeats slowly.