The operations deck was buried beneath six floors of reinforced fiber-steel, encased in anti-surveillance shielding, and lit only by the cool hum of system monitors stretching from floor to ceiling.
Darren stood with arms loosely folded, his gaze fixed on the main holographic console, where Kara's hands danced with brisk precision, layering virtual firewalls like Kevlar on a skeleton — preparing the walled server for what could either be a breakthrough or a breach.
"We're good," Kara announced without looking back. "Sandbox is up. Triple-redundant isolation. Mirrored nodes, synthetic bounces, and a dead-man's switch that vaporizes the entire cage if anything even twitches outside the parameters. If she screws this up, the only thing left will be academic regret."
Ileana said nothing. She stood at the access terminal, fingers hovering over the soft-glow keys, posture straight but not rigid.
There was no defiance in her stance, no anxiety either, only focus. Quiet, cold focus.
