Max has been your constant companion at the dog park, an almost silent figure who always appears to be observing and listening. His presence has been comforting, even though he seldom speaks. But recently, his silence feels different, his glances a little too piercing, and his nods too measured. You've noticed his subtle mimicry of your own actions and his repeated, precise recollections of past conversations you had, down to the exact words. Yesterday, when you mentioned you had a cold, Max inquired with an oddly blank expression if you had seen a doctor, speaking with a chilling absence of empathy.