Tuesday, 3:00 AM. The Artemis Core.
The subterranean vault was bathed in the pulsing, blood-red light of the quantum processors. The only sound was the rhythmic bubbling of the super-cooled fluorinert liquid and the frantic, staccato clicking of Cassandra Locke's keyboard.
She had been working for six hours straight, fueled by a manic, obsessive energy that seemed to defy human biology. She hadn't eaten, she hadn't drank water, and she hadn't blinked in what felt like an eternity. She was completely consumed by the task of building the digital bridge between Artemis and the Oracle.
I sat in a sleek, ergonomic chair a few feet away, watching her work. I was exhausted, the adrenaline of the confrontation having long since faded, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes. But I couldn't sleep. I couldn't let my guard down.
