Suggest Emma come up with a prompt

I **** a chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck as I take the phone back from her. The screen's glow feels hotter against my skin, almost mocking, but I shove down the unease twisting in my chest. "Yeah, right? Total joke. Obviously, it won't work—some developer's wet dream for Skyrim mods or whatever. What would I even say to do? 'Emma, fetch me coffee'?" I shake my head, aiming for casual dismissal, but my pulse hammers steady now, watching how she leans forward, elbows on her knees, that teasing spark lighting her blue eyes.

She bites her lower lip, glancing at the input field where the cursor blinks patiently. Her blonde hair falls across one shoulder, catching the sunlight slanting through the blinds. "Okay, but... come on, it's kinda intriguing. Like, what if it is real? Some hacked AI scanning vibes or face-reading your expressions?" Her voice drops conspiratorially, the way it did when we were kids plotting against Dad's bedtime rules. She straightens a bit, the band tee shifting loose over her small breasts, and I catch myself staring too long—blame the app, or the morning fog still clouding my brain. "Let's test it. No big deal. Gimme a sec to think of something stupid."

I raise an eyebrow, playing along with a smirk that hides the quick calculations racing through my mind: if this thing flares up, do I shut it down? Or lean in? "Fine, your funeral. Hit me with your genius prompt. But if the walls start closing in on us, it's all your fault."

Emma's grin widens, mischievous and sharp, as she snatches the phone again. She types quickly, thumb flying over the screen, her thigh brushing mine accidentally—or not—where she's perched on the bed's edge. "Alright, here goes nothing." She taps enter with exaggerated flair, then hands it back, her blue eyes locking on mine, wide and waiting. The app processes for a beat, a soft chime echoing from the speaker, and then Emma... she doesn't flinch. Instead, she stretches lazily, her arms arching overhead, the tee riding up to expose a strip of pale midriff. Without a word, she slides off the bed and pads toward the door, pausing to glance over her shoulder. "You know what? I'm starving. I'm gonna whip up some eggs. Want any?" She winks, like it's the most natural thing, but her hips sway just a touch more deliberately as she heads for the kitchen.

I blink at the screen, where her profile pulses: Command Executed: 'Emma feels an urge to cook breakfast for you.' Influence: 5%. Resistance Softening. My throat goes dry. She's joking, right? Messing with me like always, latching onto the idea just to freak me out. Yeah, that has to be it—Emma's too stubborn to bend for some glitchy app. But as the scent of sizzling butter drifts in from the living room a moment later, followed by the clatter of pans, a low thrill uncoils in my gut, dark and insistent. The phone's warmer now, the interface evolving, unlocking a new tab: Target Acquired: Emma. First Bond Forming. Suggested Commands: Tease Lightly, Deepen Trust, Amplify Affection.

Sarah's profile lingers faint in the background, untapped, but Emma's right here, humming some off-key tune while she cracks eggs. I stand slowly, pocketing the phone as I follow her out, testing the waters with a casual lean against the doorframe. "Smells good already. Didn't know you were playing housewife today."