Gcadas

"The Sad Math," I repeated, rubbing my temple. "You're telling me a cognitive anomaly named itself something a depressed accountant would scrawl on a napkin?"

Lena looked at me, then at Bunny. "He's not sad anymore," she said.

"Where's the source?" I asked.

"Recalculating," Bunny whispered.

Bunny hadn't created the sadness. It had just proved it was mathematically justified.

I stood up, my knees popping. "I told it the truth. Sad math is still math. But so is joy. And joy is just harder to prove."

The photograph on the wall stopped crying. The man with the Fibonacci ribs gasped as his bones reset to normal. The coffee cups across the sector un-froze, spilling lukewarm liquid onto tables.