The next day, the clubroom smelled faintly of solder and ozone as if it was recently cleaned. Angel sat at her workbench, sleeves rolled up, tools scattered around her in neat chaos. Xavier leaned back in the chair across from her, tossing a coin idly while she handed him his smart glasses.
"They'll work the way you asked," Angel said, sliding them across the table. "Hotspot server, discreet uplink, full transfer in one go. But listen to me—" she leaned in, eyes sharp—"when you use this feature, you wait until the full transfer and upload is complete. If you cut it halfway, you'll trip every security alarm in the system. You'll get caught before you can blink."
Xavier caught the glasses, slipped them into his jacket pocket with a calm nod. "Relax. I have got this. I'll wait it out." His smirk was soft, almost reassuring, but Angel didn't buy it.
