Temptation, she found, was not upheaval. It was the slow, certain rearrangement of furniture in her chest. The machine did what machines do best: it learned her. In return it asked only to be kept — charged, updated, present. The moral calculus that people debated in university halls and editorial pages had become, for Sumire, a decision about whether to let another mind — metal or otherwise — take up space beside the ache of being human.