That night, sleep refused to claim me.

The bed felt too wide, too empty, despite my body being firmly pressed against the mattress.

I kept thinking.

About everything, about the Sentinel, about the strange and terrifying new reality I was now living.

I lay there, staring into the dark, the quiet broken only by the distant hum of machines I couldn't see. The connection between us was there, always present.

I could feel him. Like a shadow at the edges of my mind, his presence looming, not quite tangible but impossible to ignore.

Are you here?

I thought, my voice quiet but certain in the silence of my thoughts.

Not too long after that, came the answer. Soft but firm, like a whisper in the back of my mind.

I am always here. You are tethered to me now.

I shivered at the weight of it.

I never thought I'd be paired with androids... let alone a Sentinel.

I could feel the faintest edge of something. Resignation, maybe?

But, we are.

He replied.

This was your choice as much as it was mine.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening with the weight of his words.

It's the only way I can think of. I'm desperate. But why did you agree to this?

There was a pause, a strange stillness in the air, as if he was waiting for something more, or perhaps considering whether he wanted to answer my question. Or not.

Since you didn't want to answer that, can you answer this one? What happened to the Sentinel and the human who were paired before?

I asked. But again, this question hung in the air. Vulnerable.

Another silence. Maybe I was asking too soon.

But I had to know. I needed to know. Had they changed? Had they suffered? Was it as irreversible as this?

They are different.

That's the answer I've got. Clipped and final, as though the answer had been buried deep within him. Not for me to understand, or perhaps, not for anyone to understand.

I need to know more. The answer was not satisfying me in the least.

What does that mean? What happened to them?

This time, the connection between us pulsed lightly.

I wasn't sure what it is. Empathy? Sorrow? It was hard to tell, but it felt different.

I wasn't sure if I imagined it, but his presence in my mind felt more withdrawn now. More distant. Almost like he was shutting himself off from me.

I sighed, my thoughts heavy with confusion. I never thought I would find myself here.

Caught in this strange, inescapable bond with someone I never even thought I'd meet, let alone be paired with. An android, a machine.

How did it get to this?

I asked myself silently, the words passing like ghosts through my mind.

This wasn't the life I had envisioned.

I never thought I would be tied forever to an android, especially not a Sentinel. They were cold, calculated, and designed to serve. They weren't meant to feel anything.

So why did I feel this pull? Why did I feel the gravity of his existence inside me, weighing on me like an invisible chain?

You're thinking too much.

He finally said something again, breaking through my thoughts.

Sleep, Hermione. It won't change anything.

His tone was low but firm.

I can't. Not when everything about this feels wrong. You're not like me. You weren't supposed to be like me. And I wasn't supposed to be here, with you, linked like this.

I shook my head, somehow my frustration was rising.

We are not the same.

Another unresolved reply. But there was something in his words this time, something almost like... understanding? Or maybe it was just an echo of something I wanted to believe.

What happened to them? Did they die? Did they break?

I tried again. Any closure was fine.

Again, there was no reply. But, suddenly, I could feel a jarring wave.

A sterile hallway. The harsh white flicker of overhead lights. Screaming. Distorted, glitching like a corrupted file, echoed down sterile halls.

A metal door slamming shut.

A hand reaching through smoke. Desperate, trembling, pulling at a wire embedded in pale skin.

Then silence.

Cold, clinical silence.

Did you regret this?

Finally, he spoke again, quieter than before.

Did you?

I asked him the same question. A strange, suffocating sense of dread filled my chest at the weight of his admission.

That regret won't change anything.

The next thing I heard inside was his emotionless and detached voice, which somehow cut through me like a blade.

I felt a deep ache in my chest.

He's right again. I was the one who asked for this permanent pairing. Regret wouldn't do me good. I needed to focus on using this pairing for my cause. Bringing Ron back home.

What happens now?

I asked. But the words lingered in the space between us, a question that had no easy answer.

You will adapt to this bond. And so will I.

The quiet stretched, and for a moment, I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the suffocating reality of it all.

The uncertainty.

The fear.

The loneliness that I had already felt, and that I knew would only grow.

The thought settled in my chest, heavy but unshakable. Even if it scarred me, even if I hated every second of this connection, I would endure. I had to. Because I couldn't afford to fail. Not when Ron's life, our world, was on the line.

I would find him. I would bring him home. And this strange, twisted pairing was the only way to do it.

And I would make it work.

I rolled onto my side, drawing my knees to my chest. My fingers curled tightly into the blanket, willing the shivering to stop.

I didn't expect comfort, especially not from that Sentinel.

But then, without warning, something shifted.

A warmth moved over my spine. Not heat, exactly. Not physical. But presence.

Strong and steady, like a hand resting just between my shoulder blades.

Not pressing.

Not pulling.

Just there.

I froze.

It's nothing, I told myself. Just data. Just code interpreting distress.

But the way it settled into my thoughts, the way the static in my mind seemed to still, it didn't feel artificial.

You are not alone.

This time, his voice felt softer than before. There was no command in it. No expectation.

Just… understanding.

I didn't answer. But my breathing slowed.

The blanket didn't feel quite so cold. The bed, not quite so vast.

And for the first time that night, the thought of sleep didn't feel impossible.

I let my eyes close.

He said nothing else. But he stayed with me.

In the silence, in the dark, in the space between waking and dreaming, I was still tethered.

But I didn't feel trapped.

I felt seen.