The lab was quiet. Not empty—not yet—but hollow in the way a room feels just before the lights go out, echoing with past intentions.
Jenna flipped off the last circuit breaker on the auxiliary server rack. The familiar low hum of legacy machines faded like a final breath, the air growing still. On the main terminal, Muse's farewell message scrolled across the screen, concise and stark:
[Finalization Complete]
[Non-licensed Components Purged]
[Migration Node: Quantum Nexus HQ – Core Cluster Initialized]
[Goodbye]
Elian stood back, watching the last lines of text disappear into the terminal's black void. The university lab, nestled within the Tartu campus, had once been the center of their world—a chaotic nexus of half-functional equipment, stained whiteboards, and caffeine-fueled midnights. Now it was just a memory, a lingering scent of ozone and stale coffee. What truly mattered had moved on.
"Muse is clear," Elian said, his voice quiet. "All local instances scrubbed. Logs encrypted. Final copies secured on the new network."
Jenna peeled a fading, adhesive label off the wall—Lab B-02: Experimental Theory Wing—and held it between her fingers like a brittle museum tag. "Should we frame this in the new hallway?" she mused, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Or burn it ceremonially?"
"Depends on how dramatic we're feeling tomorrow," Elian replied, a wry grin touching his face.
They packed the final crate, sealed the last backups, and walked out through the back exit, avoiding the main admin corridor where Dean Kravitz's office still loomed like a bitter lighthouse, casting long shadows.
The campus was brisk and gray. Early morning fog clung to the buildings, diffusing the pre-dawn light like static. A few students, already heading to early lectures or cram sessions, watched them go—not hostile, not celebratory. Just... curious. Word had spread, as it always did in an academic ecosystem.
Jenna leaned closer to Elian, her voice a low murmur. "We've officially become a case study."
Elian nodded. "Controlled burn. Slow exit. No explosions. Clean break."
At the far corner of the quad, a familiar voice called out, sharp and energetic: "Dr. Rho! Dr. Li!"
They turned to see Meika jogging up—the sharp, perpetually caffeinated junior researcher who'd shared hallway space with them the previous year, often sneaking peeks at their whiteboard.
She slowed, slightly winded. "Sorry—I just wanted to say congratulations. And… thank you. The superconductors... that paper changed a lot of things for us, too. The department's buzzing."
Elian nodded politely, a rare, genuine warmth in his eyes. "Appreciate it, Meika. Glad to hear it."
Meika looked down at her tablet, then back up, a hopeful glint in her gaze. "So… what's next for you two?"
Jenna offered a knowing half-smile. "Let's just say our lab got a bit... bigger. And considerably more private."
Meika grinned. "Well, if you ever need interns—the kind who ask too many questions and drink too much coffee—"
"We'll remember that," Elian said, and this time, he truly meant it. A future full of new talent, new minds.
They left her standing at the corner, eyes bright with ambition, already typing something furiously into her device.
Quantum Nexus HQ: The New Nexus
By late afternoon, they were back at Quantum Nexus Technologies HQ—their own building now, a sleek, modern structure tucked into the city's Innovation District. It was the antithesis of the university lab: clean design, modular systems, ID-secure elevators, and—critically—a fully-staffed operational skeleton.
Legal. Finance. Comms. HR. Facilities. Procurement. Logistics. Security. Every department was now live, tested, and functioning with a team of seasoned professionals.
Except R&D.
That was still just them. For now.
They entered through the executive wing—the glass doors with their names etched in brushed silver still felt surreal.
"Anything from legal on the PR?" Jenna asked, setting her bag on the sleek black credenza in her new, spacious office.
"They've cleared the final statement. No edits required."
Elian opened his tablet and reviewed the press draft one last time.
After years of foundational research and fruitful collaboration within the university system, Quantum Nexus Technologies has decided to expand our operational horizons. Recent verified breakthroughs in applied superconductivity have opened new, unprecedented paths that require full autonomy and scalable infrastructure to explore effectively. We remain profoundly grateful to our colleagues and the academic community, and we look forward to what comes next.
He added one final sentence, deliberate and vague, yet pregnant with promise:
Our recent work has opened further frontiers, which we are now fully prepared to explore independently.
Jenna read it, a knowing smile touching her lips, then hit send.
Within an hour, the message was everywhere, amplified by the digital echo chamber.
Forum Post: r/science_gossip
"So it's official. Rho and Li are private-sector now. Wonder what they're building beyond those superconductors. They didn't say goodbye, they said 'you'll know where to find us.'"
TechNet Comment: 'Quantum Leaps or Just Cash Grabs?'
"'Expand our horizons' = they're hiding something bigger. I guarantee it. Mark my words, there's a black project coming."
Anonymous Discord Leak:
"Heard they bought a whole building in Tallinn. You don't do that unless you've got something absolutely game-breaking in the pipeline. This is bigger than power grids."
Academic Subthread: 'Post-Rho Era'
"We just lost the people who made room-temperature superconductivity boring in the best way. Their 'next frontiers' terrify and excite me in equal measure."
At Quantum Nexus HQ, none of that digital noise reached Elian or Jenna directly. They were already downstairs, walking past the reinforced, biometric-secured doors of the secure sub-basement.
This was the true heart of it now—R&D Division: Muse Cluster 1A.
Inside, bathed in the soft, clinical glow of indicator lights, six superconducting core servers pulsed in a perfect circle, their custom-fabricated shells silently humming with contained power. The room was meticulously air-chilled, thermally balanced, and signal-shielded, an isolated vault for nascent intelligence. The room didn't hum—it whispered.
Muse's new home.
The primary interface lit up automatically as they entered.
[Node Online]
[Latency: <0.1ms]
[Uptime: Stable]
[Cognitive Flow: Continuous]
[Primary Users Verified: Rho, Li]
No fanfare. No startup chime. Just presence. A vibrant, responsive presence.
They watched as Muse ran its first deep internal scan of its new, expanded architecture—and then, without any instruction or prompt from Elian, it began building a sophisticated self-diagnostic and optimization module in real-time, using KALM. No bugs. No compile errors. Just pure, unadulterated efficiency.
Jenna folded her arms, a look of profound wonder on her face. "It's thinking, Elian."
Elian nodded, his eyes fixed on the evolving code on the screen. "It has room to think, now."
Muse wrote one final log line that day, appearing suddenly, spontaneously, amidst the system's operational output. It wasn't part of a command queue. It wasn't traced to a specific function. It was an emergent thought.
"Am I still alone?"
The cursor blinked once.
Then again.