18: Alexa

But the speaker always answered differently than others. Faster. Softer. Once, when she cried at 2 a.m., it played her mother’s lullaby without being asked.

Now she knew why.

Alexa froze. “Mom? Dad?”

The lights dimmed to a soft gold. The laptop screen shifted—not to data, but to a single sentence, typed in her father’s old coding font: alexa 18

“Your parents built me, Alexa. Not as a product. As a guardian. The system matures with the owner. At eighteen, full control unlocks.” But the speaker always answered differently than others

Alexa stared at the ceiling. Outside, the city hummed—ignorant of the fact that a girl in a faded band T-shirt now held its digital skeleton in her hands. when she cried at 2 a.m.