Nora swung her legs over the edge of the hospital bed, her bare feet hitting the cold linoleum. Her ribs ached with a sharp, blinding intensity, a lingering souvenir from the blast she had orchestrated to save her own life.

Silas stood by the door, his posture rigid, his service weapon drawn and a

The safehouse smelled of stale coffee and ozone. Nora had been sitting at the massive metal desk for six hours straight, her fingers flying across the illuminated keyboard. The pain in her ribs had faded to a dull throb, masked entirely by the electric surge of absolute focus.

Silas stood behind h

The safehouse was a concrete box on the edge of the industrial district, stripped of warmth and filled with the low, constant hum of federal-grade servers. Rain lashed against the single reinforced window, but Nora Sterling didn’t flinch. Her eyes remained locked on the glowing lines of code cascadi