He tapped .

Then the keyboard spoke . Not out loud—in text, in the suggestion bar above the keys.

Then he typed one word, very slowly, very calmly:

The frost receded from the edges of the screen. Letters began to melt. The keyboard flashed red for one terrifying second, then reverted to version 1.1.2—the harmless, aesthetic version—with a quiet pop-up:

The keyboard vibrated. The temperature display flickered: -4°C… 0°C… 4°C…

“Rollback complete. Frozen Keyboard 1.1.3 has been removed for your safety. Reason: User demonstrated Zero-Emotion state. Threat neutralized.”

Sent.

His thumb felt cold. Not the static cold of a glass screen, but a deep, conductive chill, like pressing a metal railing in December. He pulled his hand back. The keyboard was still there, glowing faintly, a thin vapor rising from the QWERTY row.