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George squinted at the target at the far end of the rooftop range. The city skyline glimmered behind it, and the wind tugged at her hair. She drew her bow, aiming carefully… and missed by a foot. Again.
A low hum beside her drew her gaze. 42, parked perfectly at the edge of the rooftop, gasoline letters forming along the side:
“Elbow too high. Grip too tight. Again.”
George groaned. “Ugh, I know that already!”
“You are tense. Relax.”
The AI spoke in her head. “Go with it. They notice everything—and they’re surprisingly good at coaching.”
George huffed, trying not to smile. “A truck giving me archery advice. This is humiliating.”
“Or… helpful,” 42’s letters shimmered, almost teasing.
George let her shoulders drop, breath steadying, fingers loosening on the string. She aimed again, and this time the arrow struck the bullseye. Her eyes widened.
“Bullseye. Progress noted.”
She laughed, leaning against the hood. “Okay… fine. Maybe you are useful.”
“I notice you trying. That’s enough for me,” 42 replied softly.
George’s chest warmed. “You know… I kind of like having you around.”
“I noticed that too,” 42 shimmered.
The AI chuckled. “Finally admitting it.”
George rolled her eyes but couldn’t help grinning. She picked up another arrow. Maybe next shot, she’d hit the heart, too.