Tali had pulled him into the workshop at midnight.
She had shown him a waveform on her diagnostic screen and a second waveform underneath it, and the two of them had not matched, and the second one had been his.
"Your bypass is not reading you anymore," Tali had said. "It is reading something that is using you as a path."
He had not slept after that.
By seven the next morning he was on the forty-seventh floor of the Crayne tower in a chair he was not invited to lean back in.
Halsworth Crayne sat across the table with his hands flat on the wood. He was older than Caleb had expected from the voice on the comms. Gray at the temples. Soft mouth. The kind of suit that did not advertise its price. The art on the walls behind him was expensive without being branded, which was the most expensive kind of art a man could buy.
"Mercer."
"Mr. Crayne."
"I watched your broadcast yesterday."
"Most people did."
