The sun dipped below the neon-drenched skyline, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. The evening air was warm, carrying the distant hum of the city. I sat on the comfortable balcony furniture, a half-finished drink in my hand. Veronica sat opposite me, her feet tucked up beneath her, sipping her own drink. The familiar, comfortable silence between us was a stark contrast to the emotional storm that had defined our first reunion on this very balcony a year ago.

For a year, this had been the routine. Evenings together. Nights together. A relationship that had everything except a name. I loved her. She knew it. I knew she loved me. But the wall was always there, built from the rubble of my past mistake.

"You know I still love you, right?" I said, the words hanging in the tranquil air.

Veronica didn't look at me, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She took a slow sip. "Even though I'm a toaster on legs with synthetic skin stretched over a metal frame?" Her voice was light, a practiced casualness that didn't quite reach her eyes.

I sighed. "Veronica... I'm sorry. I was an idiot. A scared kid. I didn't mean—"

She finally turned her head, a wry smile on her lips.

"I know. Water under the bridge. We've been over it. We're adults now." She waved a hand, dismissing the ancient history, "It's fine."

She was lying. It was the one lie I never called her on. I let the silence stretch again, hoping the sunset would say what I couldn't.

After a few minutes, she spoke again, her tone shifting to something deliberately offhand.

"So, weird question. You wouldn't mind, right? If I brought my daughter to live here with me."

I almost choked on my drink. I coughed, setting the glass down with a clink.

"Your... what?"

"My daughter." she said it as if she'd asked me to pass the salt, "She's sweet. A real firecracker. Takes after her dad." She took another sip, watching me over the rim of her glass.

My mind was a blank, white static. The unasked question must have been plastered across my face.

She let out a short, dry laugh.

"You didn't know we could do that? Conceive, carry, the whole nine yards? Yeah. We can. Biology 101, genius." she sighed, as if explaining to a particularly slow child, "Want to ask how old she is?"

The memory surfaced, sharp and painful. Seven years ago.

A sixteen-year-old Veronica Voss had walked into my dojo, all fierce determination and hidden vulnerability. She was there on a police prep course, a prodigy with raw talent that matched my own. We were both outsiders, and that drew us together. What started as training became friendship, then something more.

For two years, it was perfect. Then, the incident. Her impulsive chase of a suspect without backup. Me, following a bad feeling, arriving just in time to see a psychopath with an armor-piercing round catch her in the shoulder. The sound was wet, brutal. I saw the shock on her face, then nothing but a cold, terrifying clarity as her systems took over. The Asimov Protocol.

It wasn't a fight; it was a dismantling. A display of strength and speed that was anything but human. She moved like a machine, a predator, tearing the armed men apart before collapsing.

I got her to the Institute, to Dr. Valentine, just as she'd begged me to with her last conscious breath.

I sat by her bedside all night, watching the machines work on her, the truth of what she was screaming in my head. In the morning, during the strained, awful conversation, the words left my mouth before I could stop them. Something stupid, something fearful.

I called her a "thing."

The hurt in her eyes was absolute. The pillow, the glass, the carafe — they all followed me out the door along with her screamed demands for me to leave.

Dr. Valentine appeared, a cold, imposing figure, and politely asked me to go. The next day, Veronica was gone. Vanished. All I got from the Institute was a cold message: she asks that you do not look for her.

I left the city a year later, the ghost of her my only companion.

My voice was a hoarse whisper.

"How... how old is she?"

"Five." The word landed like a physical blow.

Before I could process it, she leaned forward and clapped me firmly on the knee, a sharp, startling gesture.

"Congratulations, by the way. You're a dad."

My eyes widened further, if that was even possible. She saw my expression and a genuine, wicked grin spread across her face. She reached down and placed a hand on her stomach, giving it a gentle, circular rub.

Her grin widened.

"And judging by the latest diagnostic... there's another one on the way. Should've paid more attention in sex ed. Doctor V did tell you that unprotected sex with a hybrid tends to result in children."

She leaned back, her smirk triumphant yet brittle, her eyes searching mine for the slightest hint of rejection.

"I'm not planning on maternity leave just yet, though. Got a big case — some corporate scum kidnapping my kind for parts. It's getting messy."

The two revelations - fatherhood and her dangerous investigation - collided in my mind, leaving me utterly speechless. The fate of our family, it seemed, hung on my next reaction.