Tuesday, 9:00 AM. The Bunker.
The air in the underground auto shop was thick with the smell of stale coffee and the low, constant hum of the air-gapped servers. Nia was asleep in a folding chair, her head resting on a stack of server manuals, her glasses pushed up into her hair. She had been awake for thirty-six hours straight, building the digital ghost-trail that had saved me from Evelyn Cross's initial interrogation.
I didn't wake her. I walked over to the secondary terminal, the one connected to the outside world, and pulled up the dossier I had compiled on the Director of Enforcement.
Evelyn Cross was a ghost in her own right.
