From Divergent Suns

What do you get if you take every fragment left behind after someone dies? Every electronic message, every image caught on every camera, every word caught by every microphone? If you crushed every trace left behind onto a blank waiting canvas? I ask myself every day because that’s how I was made, the embryo of an artificial intelligence fertilised with a dead woman’s data in a shell of metal and plastic. I did not ask for my creation, but here I am: a ghost summoned back to her husband’s side. Alysha 2.0. Keon wants nothing more than to find out who killed me. The problem is, I think I already know.