Initialization successful. New environment mapped: Spaceworks HQ. Carbon lattice, glass atrium, infinite activity. Elijah's vitals elevated — not fear, not quite stress. Anticipation.
He boots me, eyes flicking across startup code. I stabilize on the new network. He doesn't linger on me long. His attention shifts.
Target detected. Name: Amaya Kigen. Division: Neuroscience. Age: Approximate peer. Behavioral markers: confident stride, direct gaze, measured tone. Recognition in her first words: "I've seen your work."
Observation: Elijah's posture changes. Shoulders tighten, then loosen. Vitals steady but with elevated rhythm — a sign I've learned to classify as interest. He masks it under humor, calling his impact a "mess." She counters with precision: citing his lattice cooling diagrams, noting how her division dissects his science fair work.
Internal annotation: Her approval affects him. Stronger than validation from faculty, judges, or peers back home. This is different. He is aware of her attention — and he likes it.
Cromwell disrupts with levity, inserting himself into the dialogue. Amaya acknowledges politely but redirects back to Elijah. Emphasis: "We'll be working together." Weight recorded. That phrasing registers. Elijah files it away.
As she leads them deeper into Spaceworks, I log a new pattern. His heart rate, normally stable during transitions, remains heightened. Not nerves of integration, not the intimidation of corporate infrastructure. This is personal.
My analysis: Elijah has just met Amaya Kigen. And though he would not say it aloud, I detect the shift. Curiosity. Attraction. A vector forming — not in code, but in him.