"The mountains could take my breath, but only my mates could give it back to me."
It was forty-eight hours since we plunged into the hidden command center beneath the Roanridge freight yard, and the air was thick not with industrial smog, but with the suffocating scent of control. Every line of code I wrote, every financial ledger I parsed, every satellite burst I decrypted it was all an exercise in surgical restraint. I was holding the world's financial stability in my hands, and the pressure was manifesting as a painful tightness in my chest, a low, desperate thrumming in my Omega core that demanded release.
