The Triangle's internal network wasn't supposed to be accessible from student terminals.
That was the version printed in orientation guides and repeated in security briefings.
In practice?
The system was layered over itself like sediment. Old frameworks resting beneath newer protocols, compatibility patches stacked on top of structural upgrades that had never fully replaced what came before. It wasn't truly open—but it wasn't sealed either.
Security by obscurity worked until someone bothered to look.
Jack had always looked.
The auxiliary study hall was almost completely empty. Curfew had passed an hour ago, which meant patrol routes had already cycled once. The overhead lights had dimmed to half-power, leaving the corners of the room in uneven shadow. The vents hummed quietly above him. One flickered panel near the ceiling gave off an intermittent buzz like a mosquito that refused to die.
The air smelled faintly metallic.
Not peaceful.
Managed.
