[Keifer's POV]
The talk in the study with Pappa had been a surgical dismantling of my ego. He didn't shout; he just reminded me that a Watson man is only as strong as the peace he provides his wife. I had failed the most basic directive of my existence.
But nothing prepared me for the cold, clinical reality of dinner.
I arrived at the table early, my hands still stinging from a session with the heavy bag in the gym, my eyes burning from lack of sleep. I waited, my heart hammering against my ribs, hoping—praying—for a look, a lecture, even a plate thrown at my head. Anything but what I got.
Jay walked in.
She wasn't wearing the emerald blouse or the infinity brooch. She was in a simple, oversized white sweater, her hair pulled back in a utilitarian bun. Her eyes were no longer blood-red, but they were dull—like a screen that had been powered down to save energy.
I stood up instinctively as she approached. "Jay—"
She didn't even flinch. She didn't look at me. She moved past me as if I were a piece of furniture, a ghost in my own dining room. She sat in her chair, her movements precise and silent.
The Wall of Silence
"Jay, dear, try some of the sea bass," Mamma Serina said, her voice cautious, acting as the bridge between us.
"Thank you, Mamma," Jay replied. Her voice was clear now, but it was devoid of the "Glow." It was the voice of a stranger.
I reached for the pitcher of water, my hand trembling slightly. I poured a glass and set it down near her hand. "Here, Jay. Your throat must still be..."
She didn't acknowledge the glass. She didn't acknowledge my hand. She simply picked up her fork and began to eat, her gaze fixed on a point exactly three inches above her plate. It was a 100% lockout. She had encrypted her emotions, and I no longer had the password.
"Keigan, how was the lab today?" she asked, turning to my brother with a small, fragile smile that never reached her eyes.
"It was... uh, fine, Ate," Keigan stammered, looking at me with a mixture of pity and "you-screwed-up" judgment. "We finished the propulsion test."
"That's excellent. I'd love to see the data later. I have a lot of free time now that I'm focusing strictly on my own research," she said.
Every word was a needle under my skin. Focusing strictly on her own research. She was removing the "Watson" from the "Watson-Jay Constant." She was becoming a solo variable again.
The Ghost at the Table
I couldn't eat. I just sat there, watching her. I tried to catch her eye, leaning into her line of sight, but she adjusted her posture with a robotic fluidity, always keeping her eyes averted. I was being treated as "Background Noise"—non-essential data that the system had filtered out to prevent further damage.
"Jay, I'm sorry," I whispered, the words feeling pathetic in the vast silence of her indifference. "Please. Talk to me."
She reached for a napkin, patted her lips, and turned to Pappa Keizer. "Pappa, would you mind if I moved some of my equipment to the smaller library? I think I need a more... isolated environment to work in for a few weeks."
"Of course, Jay-Jay," Pappa said softly, his eyes flicking to me with a warning.
She stood up, her plate still half-full. She hadn't looked at me once in forty-five minutes. Not a glance. Not a scowl. Nothing.
"Goodnight, everyone," she said.
She walked out of the room. As the door clicked shut behind her, the air seemed to leave the room. I felt the weight of my own failure pressing down on me. I had fought for the "thread-width distance" in my office, and now, I was facing a canyon-width distance in my own home.
"Analysis, Keifer?" Mamma Serina said, her voice cold and disappointed.
I put my head in my hands, my fingers digging into my scalp. "Analysis: The system isn't just crashed, Mamma. She's deleted me from the operating system."