Divine Singularity || Reader x Murder Drones

The walk back to the manor was suffocating. Not in the literal sense—you didn't breathe, after all—but you could feel yourself almost breathless, your joints stiffening as if rust had suddenly settled in. The silence between you and J was something new—foreign—and you weren't sure how to navigate. You knew how to deal with outright hostility, with contempt, with naïve trust that needed to be broken. But this? This was different.

J wasn't looking at you like you were a threat to her safety, like you were a toy, nor like you were some kind of friend. Her gaze was something worse—cautious, calculating, curious in a way that made your casing itch. Every few steps, another glance. Quick, darting. And yet, for all her attempts at subtlety, she was about as discreet as an oil leak on a white piece of cloth.

It was the same kind of look one might give a broken machine—one that, against all odds, had continued to function in ways it shouldn't. As if she were trying to peel back the layers of your existence with her optics alone, dissecting you before the surgery even began.

Tessa, ever perceptive, caught onto it almost immediately. She was a mechanic, an engineer, a girl who spent her life tinkering with metal and wiring, understanding the hidden intricacies of machinery like they were part of her. And she had spent enough time around you and J to recognize when something wasn't quite right.

To anyone else, you and J walked in perfect sync, close enough that nothing appeared amiss. But Tessa's gaze was sharp, scanning, picking apart the subtle stiffness in your posture, the way J's brow furrowed, the near-imperceptible down turn of your lips as your mind ran calculations on the best way to handle this new shift in dynamic.

She said nothing at first, just observed, filing away the details in that bright little mind of hers. Tessa's keen gaze lingered, and then she slowed her pace, letting you and J catch up until the three of you walked side by side. She didn't look at either of you directly at first, just kept her eyes forward, her expression unreadable.

"So," she finally said, glancing over to both you and J. "Is something wrong?"

J stiffened. You exhaled sharply through your vents.

"Define 'wrong,'" you said. You bit back a wince the moment the words left your mouth. Not exactly the greatest deflection ever.

Tessa hummed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, it's just that I've never seen J look so... spooked." Her voice was the same as ever, but her gaze was anything but. There was an edge to it, something surgical in the way she observed, dissecting each tiny shift in body language, each unspoken word. Then, those razor-sharp eyes landed on you, tilting her head just enough to make you feel like you were under a microscope. "And you—" her voice took on a playful lilt, but the scrutiny behind it was anything but lighthearted "—you're not exactly the pitch-perfect picture of emotion, but even you look a bit... lost."

You didn't flinch. But you did hold your breath for a second longer than necessary.

You and J glanced at each other, your optics locking for the first time since leaving the scrapyard. In that split second, a silent exchange took place, a conversation woven entirely in unspoken words and flickering pixels. With Tessa's gaze momentarily off you, your screen flashed a subtle shushing emoji—quick, brief, a warning.

J's own optics flickered as she processed it. Then, a barely-there nod. Message received. She wasn't going to talk.

Tessa hadn't missed the exchange, though she pretended otherwise.

The wind whistled through the scrapyard behind you, a mournful sound that rattled loose bits of scrap metal and sent a few brittle drone limbs tumbling down a pile of discarded parts. Then, before either of you could think up a passable excuse, Tessa stopped walking. Without hesitation, she reached out and grabbed both your wrists, her hands warm against your cold metal.