Darkness pooled in the corners of the suite, sliced open by the city's neon arteries pulsing against the walls. Before me, ARIA's holographic interface pulsed – a celestial war room projected from my Quantum Watch, casting my face in shifting blues and reds. Every chess piece poised. Every trap sprung. Now we just watched Ava Voss poke the bear with a digital stick.
"She's been mining our digital goldmine for thirty-four minutes," ARIA purred, her voice syrupy with the satisfaction of a god watching ants scurry. "Her handlers at Langley? Currently experiencing simultaneous, policy-compliant orgasms over the evidence. File servers are practically weeping with joy."
