On good days, lying to the Framework felt like arguing with an old teacher. Tonight, it felt like trying to hold back a flood with his hands.
Aiden's borrowed terminal sat in a storage room that smelled of rust and detergent.
Somewhere above his head, washers churned; the floor vibrated with the weight of other people's clothes.
Rin called this place "Laundry Safehouse Two."
The Department's maps still listed it as "Non‑critical utilities. Low interest."
He intended to keep it that way.
On the wall in front of him, two cheap screens flickered with feeds he wasn't supposed to have anymore.
On the left: live grid telemetry, a skeletal map of the city pulsing with numbers.On the right: a stripped‑down admin console he'd patched together from stolen code and favors.He shouldn't have either.He definitely shouldn't be doing what he was doing with them.
He did it anyway.
Vein Two lit up on the left screen like someone had poured lightning down a narrow river.
Kael.
