The digital sandbox hummed with high-frequency static as Ethan 's fingers flew across the modified terminal. Lines of crimson code reflected against his glasses, fracturing into green data packets as the final layer of the rotating firewall gave way.
"I'm inside," Ethan announced, his voice smooth and entirely devoid of emotion. He tapped a final command, anchoring a set of flashing coordinates onto the primary map. "The Illinois valley facility. It's an off-grid, decommissioned cold-war bunker masked as a private asylum. The routing headers confirm a live bio-signature match with the patient ID you provided. She is there."
I leaned over his shoulder, my eyes locking onto the blinking satellite layout. The structure was buried deep within dense timberlands, bordered by a sheer ravine. It was a perfect stronghold—and a perfect grave.
