The bunker was silent, save for the rhythmic, pulsing bassline of the track Lyra was manipulating on the screen.

It was 2:00 AM. Lyra had been working for fourteen hours straight, her fingers flying across the neural-link keyboard with the precision of a surgeon. The master access Julian had grant

The bunker was practically vibrating with the hum of the cooling servers. It was 11:00 PM, exactly twenty-one hours before the global broadcast of Sienna Blake’s debut stadium concert, and the final render of the master tracks was inching across Lyra’s monitor.

At ninety-eight percent, the progres

The roar of eighty thousand screaming fans was a physical force. It vibrated through the reinforced glass of the VIP control booth, rattling the champagne flutes on the wet bar and sending a deep, rhythmic tremor up through the soles of Lyra’s boots.

It was a sensory shock. After months locked in