The three-cup moka pot on the miniature electric burner was sputtering loudly, but nobody in Dorm 412 was paying attention to the smell of burning espresso.
Maya was still cross-legged on her mattress, her back pinned rigidly against the concrete wall. Her knuckles were white around the edges of her phone, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths.
"Zoe," Maya whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the old desktop fan. "Zoe, look at the spot terminal. Please tell me my app is glitching. Look at the digit on the right."
Zoe didn't answer immediately. Her fingers were flying across her laptop keyboard, hitting the refresh command on the Veyra Technological Institute's premium institutional feed. The blue light of the terminal reflected across her glasses as her eyes widened behind the lenses.
