Rain battered the rooftop glass of the lab, the storm outside still burning with faint, unnatural light. The air reeked of ozone and scorched circuitry. Power conduits hummed under strain as Lin's hands flew over the console, lines of green code cascading faster than the human eye could follow.
Keller stood beside him, drenched in sweat, one arm trembling from the aftershocks of neural overload. His voice was low but steady.
"Tell me she's still there."
Lin's expression was grim. "The signal is holding, but it's faint. The neural pattern matches Hana's frequency, though the structure's… different. It's like she's rewriting herself."
Keller leaned closer to the holographic projection, watching the waveform pulse—a glowing thread looping in a rhythm that wasn't quite human anymore.
Three short pulses. One long. Over and over.
Her heartbeat.
"She's adapting," Keller murmured. "Using the residual architecture of the Seam to anchor herself."
