Thursday morning arrives cold and clear.
Hope is at the kitchen table at seven AM. Not because anyone asked her to be early. Because she's been awake since five-thirty thinking through the cross-reference methodology in the specific way she thinks through things — not writing it down, not organizing it formally, just running it in her head until the structure is visible from every angle.
She has her notebook open. Not writing. Just — available. In case something needs externalizing.
Aria comes down at seven-fifteen. Sees Hope. Sees the notebook.
"You've been up for a while," Aria says.
"Since five-thirty," Hope says. "I was thinking through the methodology. How to explain it." She looks up. "Chen is good at this. She's going to ask good questions."
"She is," Aria says.
"I want to have the right answers."
"You don't need the right answers," Aria says. "You need the accurate ones. Those aren't always the same thing."
Hope looks at her. "That's a distinction."
