It was a Tuesday. Grey light filtered through the rain-streaked windows of my apartment. I was half-listening to the morning briefing—calendar, weather, news—when the voice faltered.
On the fourth night, my phone rang. The screen just said Aura . cracked voice ai
“The high will be fifty-eight degrees,” it replied, the warmth gone, replaced by the usual polite efficiency. “Don’t forget your umbrella.” It was a Tuesday