“Silver,” Charlie corrected.

“Silver. Yes. That too. Just fascinating times in history.” John was tempted to turn and see if Jessica approved of his reply or if she was scrambling out of her seat to flee the restaurant. “You didn’t know that about me, did you?” He straightened his posture. “I love history: historic towns, places.” He cleared his throat.

Charlie picked up her water glass and drank; she set it down so he could see the red lipstick mark she left. John drew back slightly and looked elsewhere, searching for anything he could lock eyes with but her. “Why were you there?” Charlie asked, recalling his attention.

“I was—” he started, then paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “I was looking for an old friend,” he said, his answer calm. She nodded, then met his eyes. He blinked, but forced himself not to look away. He had seen eyes like those before: not the madness of Springtrap, or the uncanny, living plastic of the other robots, but the stark, brutal gaze of a creature bent on survival. Charlie was looking at him like he was prey.

“Did you find your old friend?” she asked, her tone warm, and out of place.

“Yes. I did,” John said, not flinching from her stare. Charlie’s eyes narrowed, the facade between them growing thinner by the moment. John leaned forward on his crossed arms, resting all his weight on the table between them. “I found her,” he said in a low voice. There was a brief flare of something on Charlie’s face—surprise, maybe, and she leaned in closer across the table, mimicking his pose. John tried not to flinch as Charlie’s arms slid closer to his.

“Where is she?” Charlie asked, her tone as soft as John’s. Her smile was gone.

“I don’t know what it will take to show these people what you really are,” John said. “But I can try all sorts of things before you make it out that door.” He grasped his soda glass, not looking away from her. “I’ll start with this glass of soda, then I’ll try a chair over the back of your head, and we’ll go from there.”

Charlie tilted her head, as though taking in his posture. He knew his hand was twitching, and his face was red. His heart was racing; he could feel his pulse pounding at his throat. Charlie smiled, then stood and gently leaned over the table. John set his jaw, keeping his eyes fixed on her. Charlie kissed his cheek, placing a hand on the side of his neck. She kept it there as she moved away, watching his eyes. Charlie smiled, her fingers resting on his pulse for a scant moment before letting them drift away. John snapped back in his seat as if she’d been holding him in place.