Night thirteen. The generator growls, pushing back the dark. I've checked every bolt, confirmed every survivor's breath. But there's a new kid—when he sleeps... his dreams sound like binary code. His body temperature drops exactly 0.5 degrees at 3 AM. I stare at his curled-up back, imagining his pupils splitting when he wakes. If I climb onto his bed tonight, shine my flashlight into his sleeping eyes—will his eyelids flutter like a normal human's? Or under that thin skin... will something... answer my gaze?