Lucy stared at the endless cascade of code scrolling down her screen. Each line reflected in her dark-rimmed eyes felt like a countdown to oblivion. In her ears, Noah Tang's voice echoed:
> "If ByteBetter goes live, you won't just lose funding. You'll lose everything."
It sounded more like a threat than a warning. She paused the playback, leaned forward, replayed it again. She was desperate for a crack—an unfiltered cough, the scrape of a chair, the hum of a distant machine—anything that tethered the message to a person or place. But the audio was pristine, hollowed out like it had been recorded in a soundproof bunker.
Her hands hovered above the keyboard, paralyzed. She wanted to shout. She wanted to break something. But instead, she sat there, controlled, trying to breathe. This was no junior-level sabotage. This was surgical.
Behind her, Cole's quiet voice broke through:
"Lucy."
