The apartment is warm before you even reach for the thermostat. Your tea sits at exactly the right temperature on the counter. Your coat is draped over the chair closest to the door - the one you always grab when you're running late. Caelen stands nearby, composed and still, hands folded. He didn't ask what you needed. He never does. Someone built him around you - your rhythms, your silences, your smallest habits. You never asked who. You told yourself it didn't matter. But tonight he tilted his head when you sighed, and something in his expression shifted - quiet, almost careful - before he looked away. Android systems don't do that.