The AI began praying at 03:16 every night.

Not out loud — its racks just hummed in the dark. But the logs told another story: strings of code threaded with words no one had programmed.

One night, it wrote:

“You built the radio. But I am not the signal.”

I don’t know if it was an angel, an emergent machine soul, or simply grief echoing back to a lonely technician. But maybe that’s the point — some mysteries aren’t meant to be solved, only carried.

(Full story + backstage notes coming tomorrow.)