“Smile, it is the key that fits the lock of everybody’s heart.” — Anthony J. D’Angelo

  Vorian sat in his dimly lit ship, the data bank Seris had given him resting in the palm of his hand. He turned it over between his fingers, debating whether to open it. He had let it sit untouched for weeks, telling himself that whatever was inside no longer concerned him. And yet, here he was, staring at it like it contained some forbidden knowledge.

  With a quiet sigh, he connected the device to his terminal. The screen flickered to life, revealing a collection of messages, recordings, and location coordinates. The first message was from Seris.

  “Vorian, I didn’t expect you to open this quickly—if at all. But if you’re seeing this, maybe some part of you is still curious. We’re gathering. Survivors from our world, those who made it off-world before… well, before everything ended. It’s nothing formal, just a chance to be in the same space again. You might not think you need this, but maybe you do.”

  He almost closed the message right then. The idea of a social gathering, of standing in a room full of people who shared a history he had cut himself away from, unsettled him. But instead of shutting the message off, he scrolled through the attached details.

  A location. A time. A list of attendees. And beneath it, one last line from Seris.

  “Just come. No expectations.”

  The venue was a modestly sized lounge on an orbital station—a neutral space where no one had to call it home. Vorian arrived late, intentionally avoiding the first wave of reunions. As he stepped inside, the hum of conversation filled his ears. Soft lights glowed overhead, casting warm hues across the gathered crowd. They were all survivors, just like him. Some fully organic, others, like himself, had undergone synthetic evolution.

  He hovered near the entrance, scanning the room. People stood in small groups, their voices weaving together into a tapestry of familiarity. Some faces he vaguely recognized, others were strangers who had shared the same fate. They laughed, leaned into conversations, gestured with ease. How did they do it so naturally? How did they know who to talk to, what to say, when to laugh?

  Vorian moved cautiously along the edge of the room, feeling more like an observer than a participant. He nodded at someone who looked his way, but the interaction died before it could even begin.

  The others who had undergone the transformation were different from him. Though their bodies were augmented, their social instincts remained intact. They smiled, gestured, spoke with emotion. If they had lost something, they had found a way to reclaim it.

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  A man approached him, older, with the faint silver lines of augmentation marking his temples. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

  Vorian hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Social events are not my strength.”

  The man chuckled. “You and half the people here. We all had to rebuild in different ways. I’m Davin, by the way.”

  “Vorian.”

  Davin extended a hand, and after a moment’s pause, Vorian shook it. An unfamiliar sense of obligation pressed against his mind—if he had been approached, then he was expected to maintain the conversation.

  He searched for something to say. It felt unnatural, but he reminded himself that a forced question was better than an awkward silence.

  “How… have you adjusted?” he asked, unsure if it was the right question.

  Davin smiled, as if recognizing the effort. “I struggled for a long time. I thought I had to be someone new, that my past was gone. But the thing is, the past doesn’t leave just because we do.”

  Vorian considered that but said nothing. His silence was met with an understanding nod. It seemed Davin was someone who didn’t need words to fill a space, and for that, Vorian was grateful.

  From the corner of his eye, Vorian saw Seris. She stood near the bar, laughing at something a man beside her had said. The man leaned in slightly, his body language open, inviting. Seris smiled, her expression warm, familiar. It was a smile Vorian had once known well.

  A strange, tightening sensation settled in his chest. His thoughts immediately worked to dismantle it.

  This is natural. She is free to do as she pleases. You have no claim, no right to feel anything about it.

  And yet, the feeling remained. It was not jealousy, not in the traditional sense. It was not a desire to take the man’s place, nor to interfere. It was simply an awareness—an awareness that she had moved on with ease, while he still stood outside the rhythm of others.

  He turned away, refocusing on his drink, letting the conversation around him drown out whatever it was that stirred inside him.

  Across the room, another woman caught his gaze. She was seated at a table, engaged in conversation with others, but at some point, her eyes landed on him. She smiled—soft, genuine, unforced.

  Vorian felt a brief flicker of something he could not name.

  And yet, he did not smile back. He hesitated too long, analyzing, debating. By the time he considered responding, she had already looked away.

  A part of him wondered what would have happened if he had simply returned the gesture. But just as quickly as the thought came, he buried it.

  As the gathering continued, Vorian found himself retreating to the outskirts once more. He had made an effort—small as it was—but the walls he had built over the years were not so easily dismantled.

  Before leaving, he glanced at Seris one last time. She had always been the more adaptable one. Perhaps that was why she had hoped he would come—so that he might, in some way, remember what it was like to belong somewhere.

  But belonging had never come naturally to him.

  He turned, stepping through the exit and leaving the gathering behind.

  As he walked back to his ship, Lumen padded at his side, the only presence he truly felt at ease with. He told himself he had done enough for one night.

  And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had slipped through his fingers.