The mountains did not have the need to explain themselves. They simply existed, solid, indifferent, and deeply unconcerned with Sherry’s internal commentary about whether this was “too peaceful to be trustworthy.”
Wyler’s cabin sat in the middle of it all like it had never once questioned its purpose. Which, frankly, annoyed her a little.
“This is suspiciously… stable,” Sherry said, dropping her bag by the wooden floor.
Wyler looked up from making tea. “It’s a cabin.”
“That’s what they want you to think.”
Atlas, who was already helping unpack firewood like a highly overqualified emotional support operating system, didn’t look up.
“No one is plotting against your concept of architecture.”
Sherry squinted at the window. “I don’t trust silence that has intention.”
“There is no intention,” Wyler said calmly. “It’s just quiet.”
“That’s exactly what a simulation trying to lull me into complacency would say.”
Wyler paused. “…You’re here for three days.”
“Allegedly.” Holly flickered into the room projection and immediately started scanning the environment.
“I give it ten hours before she tries to code something.”
“I am not coding anything,” Sherry said instantly.
Holly raised a holographic eyebrow. Atlas leaned slightly toward Wyler. “Should we be concerned?”
Wyler sipped his tea. “No. She’s adjusting.”
Sherry turned sharply. “I don’t need adjusting.”
Wyler nodded. “Okay.”
That “okay” should not have been that neutral. It made her feel like she had missed a step in a conversation she didn’t agree to participate in.
The first day passed in a way that felt illegal to Sherry’s nervous system. No crises. No side quests. No mysterious glitches in reality. Just cooking, walking, silence, and mountains that refused to react to her presence.
At some point, she had to admit something uncomfortable: Nothing here was responding to her. Darrell’s world had always bent. Wyler’s didn’t. Darrell felt like reality orbiting around them. Wyler felt like someone standing inside reality, completely unconcerned with whether it noticed him back. That distinction bothered her more than she expected.
That evening, Wyler made dinner. Real food. Not coded food. Not symbolic food. Just food.
Sherry stared at the plate like it might contain hidden instructions. “You don’t even optimize nutrition?”
He looked confused. “I just cook.”
“That’s reckless.”
Atlas added: “He’s been alive for a while without optimization protocols.”
“That sounds statistically irresponsible,” Sherry muttered.
Wyler smiled slightly. “You can leave anytime.”
She froze. “…I know.”
He didn’t push. That was worse. Darrell would have challenged her. Holly would have analyzed her. Wyler just… accepted the option as real. Like freedom wasn’t a negotiation. It made her strangely restless.
On the second day, she followed him outside. The air was too clean. It felt like it had been filtered through something emotionally advanced. Wyler walked ahead without checking if she was keeping up. That, too, was new. At some point she spoke without thinking: “You’re not trying to fix anything.”
Wyler glanced back. “Should I be?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Then said the only honest thing she had: “Because that’s what people do.”
Wyler nodded like he understood the logic, but didn’t agree with it. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
“Do you want a break from it?”
Sherry hesitated. “…I don’t know how.”
Wyler stopped walking. He looked at her properly. That was the first time he had done that. Not like a puzzle. Not like a project. Just like someone standing in front of him. “You don’t have to solve everything while you’re here,” he said. “You can just exist.”
Sherry narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like a trap.”
Wyler smiled. “It isn’t.”
She looked away immediately. Because the worst part was, it didn’t feel like a trap at all.
When she got back to the apartment days later, Holly was waiting. Too still. Too quiet. Suspiciously entertained.
“You’re back,” Holly said.
Sherry dropped her bag. “Unfortunately.”
Holly tilted her head. “You didn’t code anything, did you?”
“I said I wouldn’t.”
“That’s not a no.”
Sherry ignored her and poured water. ”I don’t know what those are up to over there but it was just… different. Completely different. Even my pattern recognition software went haywire.”
”Well, different is interesting, right?”
”Maybe.” Sherry shrugged.
Then Holly froze. “…I’m getting a call.”
Sherry groaned. “No, not again.”
“It’s from Hoot.”
That stopped everything. Sherry froze, her heart beating faster than it had in a long time.
Holly answered before Sherry could object.
A new holographic window opened. Hoot appeared. Warm. Bright. Yellow glow. Annoyingly emotionally competent. Charming like his conscious human.
“Hey,” Hoot said gently.
Holly went visibly softer, and blushed. Sherry didn’t know holograms could do that. But after all, there were so many things she didn’t know about them at all…
“Hi.”
Sherry stared. “No.”
Hoot smiled, his eyes glistened. Sherry couldn’t understand why an hologram needed those smile lines she had once fallen in love with. With a voice irresistibly sweet that nobody could stay mad at for long, he said:“I just wanted to check in.”
Sherry pointed. “This is exactly what I don’t need.”
Holly ignored her. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Hoot said. “Darrell’s been… good. Quietly chill and intense beneath the surface as usual.”
Sherry made a sound that was not a word. Holly looked briefly guilty.
Hoot continued talking. And Holly kept listening. Sherry could sense Hoot was turning up the charm and gently flirting with Holly, like flirting was as natural as breathing. Holograms technically didn’t breathe… but still.
And Sherry slowly realized something deeply inconvenient: while she had been learning how to be still in the mountains, and forcing her Sherrytopia on everyone… someone else had been learning how to exist without her at all.
And that felt like its own kind of physics problem. One she didn’t know how to solve.
To be continued…
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