The relay hub smelled of ionized dust and sweat, like the air before a thunderstorm.

Every console hummed at a low, anxious frequency, the light from their displays painting Hale and Gray in shades of blue and amber.

Gray’s hands were a blur over the terminal. Data cascaded across the holo-screens—neural maps, uplink diagnostics, stress algorithms. He was muttering to himself, more to the machines than to Hale.

> “Cognitive anchor’s unstable. She’s reconfigured the link map ...