Read Chapter 3: Theo March

Theo March chose a café that did not accept Lattice identity tokens.

Eleanor considered that unnecessarily theatrical.

The café was in Bloomsbury, wedged between a second-hand bookshop and a repair shop for analogue cameras. A handwritten sign near the till said NO FACIAL PAYMENT. HUMAN CARDS WELCOME. CASH ENCOURAGED.

She arrived six minutes early.

He arrived nine minutes late.

Her first thought was that the photograph Lattice could have shown her, had he permitted photographs, would not have helped.

Theo was tall without seeming aware of it, with dark brown hair that looked repeatedly corrected by his hands. He wore a navy raincoat and carried an old-fashioned folding umbrella. His face was not conventionally polished in the way Lattice’s highest-response profiles tended to be. There was a small scar along one eyebrow and a tiredness around his eyes that did not make him look older so much as more difficult to summarise.

He spotted her immediately.

“Eleanor Vale?”

“Yes.”

He remained standing.

“You work for Lattice.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m leaving.”

“That was efficient.”

He looked at her.

“You asked to discuss an account anomaly. Your message did not say you were head of product.”

“I thought including that might reduce the probability of you coming.”

“You modelled me correctly.”

“Apparently that’s the problem.”

He should have walked out.

Instead, something in the sentence made him sit.

Eleanor put her phone face down between them.

“No recording.”

“I wasn’t worried about recording.”

“What were you worried about?”

“Being turned into a feature.”

She almost smiled. “Occupational hazard?”

“Yours, presumably.”

A waiter brought coffee. Theo had ordered tea.

“Your system has matched us,” Eleanor said.

His expression stayed neutral.

“With each other?”

“Yes.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“It classified us as ninety-nine point eight four percent on an experimental score.”

“And on the actual score?”

“Four point one one.”

Theo laughed once, sharply.

“That sounds more responsible.”

“Do you remember St Pancras on 14 February 2031?”

His face changed.

Not dramatically. He simply stopped being amused.

“Why?”

“I’m investigating a legacy model. Someone told me to ask.”

“Someone at Lattice?”

“I assume.”

Theo leaned back.

“There was a trial.”

“What kind?”

“Relationship transition research. Your company had a different name for it.”

“Continuity Study?”

He looked at her.

So yes.

Eleanor knew the Continuity Study only as a footnote. Before Lattice had public scale, it had recruited volunteers to test early models of communication and attachment. The study had been discontinued after ethics review.

“What happened?”

“My sister was in it.”

Eleanor felt the answer before he gave it.

“Was she harmed?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Theo looked out toward the wet pavement.

“Lattice told her that her relationship was statistically reparable.”

“We don’t—”

“You do now. You didn’t then. Then you called it experimental guidance.”

Eleanor said nothing.

“My sister, Anna, had been with a man for four years. The model saw high attachment, high conflict recovery, high long-term mutual influence. It kept telling her the volatility meant they were ‘developmentally significant’ to each other.”

The phrase struck Eleanor.

Resonance language.

“She stayed,” Theo said. “Longer than she should have.”

“What did he do?”

“He didn’t hit her, if that’s what you’re asking. He controlled money. Friends. Work. Every argument ended with her apologising because the system said their repair probability was high if she re-engaged within forty-eight hours.”

Eleanor felt sick.

“And St Pancras?”

“Fourteenth of February. She finally left him. He followed her to the station. There was a confrontation on the platform. She fell.”

“Was she—”

“She lived.”

Eleanor exhaled.

“For three months.”

The café noise seemed to recede.

“I’m sorry.”

Theo gave her a look that was not anger. Anger would have been easier.

“Lattice settled with my family. Confidentially.”

“I didn’t know.”

“No. You joined the year after.”

“I joined product eighteen months after founding.”

“That doesn’t make you innocent.”

“I didn’t say it did.”

That surprised him.

For the first time, he studied her rather than her job title.

Eleanor continued carefully. “I think the model used in that study still exists.”

Theo’s jaw tightened.

“And it matched us?”

“Yes.”

“That is either very funny or very cruel.”

“I haven’t decided.”

“I have.”

He stood.

“Theo.”

He stopped.

“I’m not asking you to trust Lattice.”

“Good.”

“I’m asking whether I can contact you again.”

“No.”

She nodded. “All right.”

He took two steps toward the door.

Then turned.

“One question.”

“Yes?”

“What does ninety-nine point eight four mean?”

Eleanor could have answered with statistics.

Instead she said, “I don’t know.”

Theo’s expression softened by a degree.

“First sensible thing your company has told me.”

He left.