POV: Lina
The alarm goes off, but I'm already awake. Third night in a row.
It's not insomnia, it's... that strange tingling sensation in the back of my neck. The one Aurora calls "your disaster radar" and I used to call "anxiety" until she introduced me to the idea that maybe I'm not so crazy after all.
I get dressed automatically. Black jeans, T-shirt, boring vest of a low-paid consultant. Coffee in a thermos, headphones without music. I leave.
On Andrade's floor, everything smells the same as always: reheated coffee, toner, exhaustion. The only difference is the empty space.
My desk is where it always is. Aurora's, next to mine, has the chair pushed in, the screen off. It looks like she left for lunch half an hour ago, not to a floor of the Noir tower with a "restricted access" sign.
I open my email. First gift of the day:
Subject: Communication guidelines – Vega case
Ah. Fantastic.
I read.
