Over the next three weeks, Elara tried everything. The projective Rorschach test—he saw not inkblots, but the idea of an inkblot. The Thematic Apperception Test—he told stories where the hero was the villain was the narrator was the reader. She hooked him up to an fMRI, expecting to see the neural signatures of a psychopath or a dissociative. Instead, his brain lit up like a Christmas tree in a hurricane. Every region fired at once, then went silent. He was, neurologically, a question mark.

Elara felt a cold prickle at her neck. “That’s not personality. That’s performance.”

And she would wonder: Was that inauthentic? Or was that the deepest truth of personality—that the self is not a stone, but a river; not a noun, but a continuous, creative, courageous act of becoming?

“This is an error in the software,” she said, tapping her tablet.