William squats next to the bot, guiding a piece of fruit slowly toward it—stopping the moment he spots a twitch of its sensors, a gleam of light. He looks up at Loki's approach, disappointment—not at who it is but who it isn't—smoothed over in a heartbeat.

His eyebrows arch. “Are you?” he asks, blurring the line between patience and insolence.

He rocks back on his heels, scratches at the back of his head. This time he lets the bot reach the fruit and snap it up, watches it swish a trickle of juice from the floor. “Maybe they keep the seeds. That'd be clever.”