The sound of metal cracking was louder than the applause from the auditorium next door.

The visitor’s room at FCI Englewood was divided by thick panes of scratch-resistant Lexan glass.

The room smelled of institutional floor wax, stale coffee, and cold, recycled air. Inmates in orange jumpsuits sat along the stainless-steel counter, whispering into heavy plastic telephone receivers to their families on the other side.

I sat down on stool number fourteen.

A heavy metal door buzzed open at the far end of the room, and an armed guard escorted an inmate inside.

It was Ryan.

His hair had been shaved close to the scalp. His face was thin, his cheekbones sharp, the arrogant, carefree glow of the varsity athlete completely erased. When he saw me sitting on the stool, he stopped dead in his tracks.

For a moment, I thought he might turn around and walk back to his cell.

Instead, he took a slow, hesitant step forward, pulled out the metal stool across from me, and sat down.

He picked up the black plastic telephone receiver.

I picked up mine.

“Hi, Emily,” Ryan said. His voice was cracked, barely audible through the earpiece.

“Ryan,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.

He looked down at his cuffed hands resting on the stainless-steel counter. His knuckles were bruised, the skin rough and dry.

“I didn't think you’d come,” Ryan whispered.

“I almost didn't,” I replied honestly.

Ryan let out a shaky, trembling breath. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, but this time, he didn't try to hide them. He didn't yell. He didn't posture.

“I deserve this,” Ryan said, looking up at me through the glass. “Every single day in here… waking up on a steel bunk… I keep hearing the sound of that metal cracking. When I stomped on your robot.”

I stayed silent, letting him speak.

“I hated you, Emily,” Ryan confessed, his voice breaking down the middle. “I hated you because you were real. Dad spent my whole life telling me I was special, buying me whatever I wanted, fixing my grades, paying off my speeding tickets. But deep down, I knew I was empty. I knew I couldn't build anything. I couldn't create anything. All I could do was skate fast and hit people.”

He wiped a tear from his cheek with the rough fabric of his orange sleeve.

“And every time I walked past the garage and saw you out there at two in the morning, shivering in your coat with that soldering iron, building something beautiful out of literal garbage… it made me feel so small. I wanted to break it because I wanted to make you as empty as I was.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy, raw, and undeniable.

“Julian offered me that money,” Ryan continued, “and I told myself I was doing it to help Dad pay his debts. But that was a lie. I did it because Julian promised me that if Thorne got hacked, Sterling would give me a six-figure marketing job after college. I was ready to ruin hundreds of lives just to stay comfortable.”

He pressed his hand against the cold glass.

“I’m sorry, Emily. I know saying it doesn't fix ARIA. I know it doesn't give you back those years. But I’m so sorry.”

I looked at my brother through the scratched glass.

The little boy who used to steal my lunch money. The teenager who used to mock my work clothes. The brother who had tried to crush my future under his heel.

The anger that had burned inside me for months—the white-hot rage that had kept me awake during the rebuild of ARIA 2.0—finally flickered and died.

It didn't turn into love. It didn't turn into instant forgiveness.

It turned into peace.

“You’re right, Ryan,” I said into the receiver. “Saying sorry doesn't fix what you broke. But you have three years in here to figure out who you want to be when you walk out of those gates. You can stay bitter and blame everyone else like Dad does. Or you can learn how to build something of your own.”

Ryan nodded slowly, tears streaming down his face. “I’m taking college courses in here. Woodworking and electrical wiring. It’s… it’s not robotics, but it’s something.”

“It’s a start,” I said.

The guard behind Ryan tapped his watch. “Time’s up, Vance.”

Ryan stood up, holding the receiver against his ear for one last second. “Thank you for coming, Emily. Win that scholarship. Win everything.”

“I already did, Ryan,” I said softly.

He hung up the phone and walked back through the heavy steel door.