Leo did not sleep.
He sat on the floor beside the guest bed, his back against the mattress, and watched the sky through the window. He watched the night bleed from black to indigo to a soft, smoky grey. He watched the first light touch the glass towers of Silvercity, turning them from monoliths into pillars of amber and rose gold. The process was slow, majestic, and utterly silent.
He did not feel tired. The concept was another blank space in his internal catalogue. His body felt… neutral. A vessel in good working order, waiting for instructions.
When the room was fully lit, he stood. He made the bed with a precision that would have satisfied a military inspector, folding the sheets into sharp, perfect corners. He then opened the duffel bag Liam had brought. He examined each item: soft cotton t-shirts, faded blue denim, a grey hoodie with a faint coffee stain. He dressed in the jeans and a plain white t-shirt. The fabric felt strange against his skin—not unpleasant, just a new texture to note.
He found his way to the kitchen. He remembered the location of everything from the night before. He stood before the sink, looking at the faucet. He turned it on, cupped his hands under the cool water, and drank. It was efficient.
The sound of a door opening made him turn off the water.
Elara emerged from her bedroom. She was already dressed for the day in a steel-grey pantsuit, her hair a severe, perfect knot. She looked like a sword freshly sharpened. She stopped when she saw him.
"You're awake."
"Yes," Leo said. "The sun has risen. It is a new cycle."
Elara blinked, processing his phrasing. "Right. Did you sleep well?"
"I did not sleep. It did not seem necessary." He stated it as a simple fact.
"Everyone needs to sleep, Leo."
"Why?" he asked, his head tilting.
It was the first true 'why' he had asked her. It wasn't challenging. It was pure, undiluted curiosity.
"It's… how the body and mind repair themselves. How we process the day." She walked to the high-tech coffee machine, a complex beast with more buttons than her car's dashboard. She began the ritual.
Leo watched, absorbing every step: the grind of the beans, the hiss of steam, the rich, bitter aroma that filled the air. "That smell is strong. It means 'morning' for you."
"It means 'consciousness' for me," Elara muttered, taking her first sip. She eyed him. "You really didn't sleep at all?"
"I observed the night. It was very informative."
Before she could dissect that, a groan came from the living room. Liam emerged from a nest of blankets on the sofa, his hair a wild bird's nest. "Urgh. Light. Why is it so… morning?" He squinted at them. "You two look disgustingly alert. It's unnatural."
"Leo didn't sleep," Elara said, sipping her coffee.
"At all?" Liam shuffled into the kitchen, reaching for the coffee pot. "Dude, you're going to crash hard later."
"I do not think so," Leo said calmly. He was looking at the small television screen embedded in the kitchen wall. It was off, showing only a dark reflection. "What is that?"
"TV. Television," Liam said, perking up immediately. "Oh man. You don't know what TV is? This is going to be fun." He grabbed the remote, pointed, and pressed a button.
The screen burst into light and sound. A morning news show, with two overly cheerful hosts discussing traffic and weather.
Leo took a full step back, his calm eyes widening just a fraction. It was the most pronounced reaction they had seen from him. He stared at the moving pictures, at the people trapped in the thin box. His gaze darted to the speakers, then back to the screen.
"They are inside?" he asked, his voice low.
"No, no," Liam laughed. "It's a recording. Well, live, but from somewhere else. It's like… seeing and hearing things from far away."
"Magic," Leo stated, his tone one of revised understanding.
"Science!" Liam corrected, grinning. "But yeah, basically magic."
Elara watched Leo as he slowly approached the screen. He reached out a hand, his fingers stopping just before touching the glowing surface. He looked at the reflection of his own fingers superimposed over the news anchor's smiling face.
"It is a window to other places," Leo murmured. "A very noisy window."
"You can change the window," Liam said, handing him the remote. "Here. Press this button."
Leo took the remote. He held it with both hands, examining it. He pressed the button Liam indicated.
The channel changed to a cartoon—a brightly colored animal chasing another with a comical mallet. Leo's eyebrows rose. He pressed it again. A cooking show. Again. A dramatic soap opera. He cycled through ten channels in silence, his face a canvas of quiet astonishment.
"So many worlds," he finally said, lowering the remote. The screen settled on a serene nature documentary, showing a time-lapse of clouds rolling over a mountain. "This one is better. It is quieter."
"Boring," Liam declared, stealing the remote back and switching to a sports highlight reel. "This is life! Action! Energy!"
Leo watched a man kick a ball into a net. He nodded slowly. "A ritualized conflict with agreed-upon rules. Understood."
Elara choked on her coffee. That was one way to describe soccer.
Her phone buzzed. A calendar alert. Board strategy meeting at 9 AM. The real world crashed back in. She looked from her brother, now enthusiastically explaining the offside rule to a politely baffled Leo, to the amnesiac gently patting the leaves of a potted fern on the counter.
She couldn't leave him here with just Liam. It would be chaos. And… she found she didn't want to.
"I have to go to the office," she announced. "Liam, you have work today?"
"Client video call at noon. I can hang here till then."
"Leo will come with me," Elara said.
Both men looked at her.
"To the… office?" Leo asked.
"It is my place of work. You can… observe. It will be more informative than television." And, she didn't add, where she could keep an eye on him.
Leo looked from the noisy TV to her, and nodded. "I will come. I will be quiet."
An hour later, Elara Vance walked into the soaring, marble-lined lobby of Vance Horizon, a fortress of modern capitalism. As always, heads turned. Employees straightened. The air itself seemed to stiffen in respect… and fear.
Today, however, the whispers were different.
Walking two steps behind her, in Liam's slightly-too-big jeans and a simple white t-shirt, was Leo. He walked with that innate, quiet grace, his eyes not on the people, but on the architecture. He looked up at the vaulted ceilings, studied the pattern of the marble floor, observed the play of light through the massive abstract glass sculpture in the center of the lobby.
He looked utterly, completely out of place. And he seemed entirely unaware of it.
"Stay close to me," Elara said under her breath as they approached the private executive elevators.
"I will," Leo said. His eyes were now on a small, struggling potted palm tree in a corner, its leaves tinged with brown. He took a half-step toward it before stopping himself, remembering his instruction.
Her assistant, a perpetually flustered young man named Ben, met them at the elevator bank. "Ms. Vance, the 9 AM is confirmed, the reports are on your desk, and—" His eyes flicked to Leo, then back to her, his professional composure cracking.
"This is Leo. He is… a consultant. Observing our operational flow today. Please set him up in the sitting area of my office with… some water. And maybe a magazine."
"A… magazine. Yes, ma'am." Ben's confusion was palpable.
The elevator ride to the top floor was silent. Leo watched the floor numbers change. "We are going very high," he noted.
"The view is better."
"To see farther," he agreed. "That is logical."
Elara's office was a corner glass box, a panoramic view of Silvercity and the river beyond. It was power made visible. Leo went straight to the window, not to look down at the city, but up at the sky. A thick, grey raincloud was drifting toward the sun.
"It will rain soon," he said softly.
"The forecast said clear skies all day," Elara replied, powering up her computer.
Leo just nodded, still watching the cloud.
For the next two hours, Leo sat perfectly still on a plush chair in the corner. He did not touch the magazine Ben had brought. He did not fidget. He watched. He watched Elara take meetings, her voice turning to ice when a department head gave an unsatisfactory answer. He watched Ben scurry in and out. He watched the play of light on the glass table.
And he watched that raincloud.
Just as Elara's 11 AM meeting—a tense video conference with Japanese investors—was reaching a critical point, the first fat raindrop hit the floor-to-ceiling window.
Then another.
Within seconds, a sudden, violent downpour lashed against the glass, drowning out the voices from the speakerphone. The sky, perfectly clear an hour before, was now a wall of grey.
The investors, on screen, commented on the unexpected weather.
Elara, trying to maintain focus, glanced at Leo.
He was looking at the cloud, his head tilted. Then, he looked down at the potted Dracaena plant in the corner of her office. Its leaves were drooping, dusty. He looked back at the cloud outside, then at the plant. A small, almost imperceptible line of concentration appeared between his brows.
Outside, directly over the Vance Horizon tower, the single, large cloud seemed to pause its journey. The rain falling on Elara's window intensified for just a moment—a localized, focused burst—before the cloud moved on, continuing its path. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
The call ended, successfully. Elara let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
She looked at the Dracaena plant.
Water droplets, fresh and clean, glistened on its once-dusty leaves. The soil in its pot was dark and damp. Perfectly watered.
She looked at Leo. He met her gaze, his expression serene. He gave a single, small nod toward the plant, as if to say, 'It was thirsty.'
Then, he turned his gaze back to the now-clearing sky, a faint, satisfied smile on his lips.
In the lobby, the half-dead palm tree, its roots briefly touched by runoff from the torrential downpour, perked up ever so slightly, a new green shoot pushing from its base.