The dead silence of the "Silent" suite was broken by the calm breathing of astronauts and the rhythmic ticking of instruments from the tablet. Isabella curled up in the corner of the sofa, her slender fingers unconsciously entwining the soft fabric of her loungewear, her cerulean eyes fixed unblinking on the screen. The vast starry sea, the solitary probe forging ahead, humanity's attempt to touch the edge of the universe… all of this temporarily pulled her away from the cramped reality, projecting her into an immense and exhilarating world.
She didn't even immediately notice when David silently brought breakfast until he gently placed the tray on the table.
"Miss Isabella," he spoke calmly.
Isabella snapped back to reality, as if startled awake from a dream. She instinctively turned off the screen, a flicker of panic crossing her eyes, as if caught doing something wrong. But soon, that panic was covered by a layer of ice-like vigilance. She looked at the tray—it was no longer in the uniform luxurious style but replaced with a fresh fruit salad, golden scrambled eggs, and a perfectly toasted whole-grain bread. Beside it was still the warm, soothing herbal tea.
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice somewhat dry. She didn't immediately touch the food but hesitated, lifting her head, her gaze carrying a barely perceptible hint of testing as she looked at David. "Mr. David, these documentaries… are very interesting. Thank you for the recommendation."
David's hand arranging the utensils paused imperceptibly. He pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze behind the lenses calm and steady. "I'm glad they help you pass the time. That's Mr. Kane's intention." Once again, he attributed the credit to the man in the study controlling everything, leaving no gaps.
The faint hope in Isabella's eyes dimmed. She silently picked up her fork, taking small bites of the fruit. The sweet and juicy flesh eased the dryness in her throat.
David did not immediately leave as usual. He stood aside, seemingly supervising her meal, yet also seemingly waiting for something. A subtle silence filled the air.
Isabella ate absentmindedly, her mind still on the images of the nebula she had seen moments ago. Suddenly, a thought escaped uncontrollably. She set down her fork and casually whispered, "Mr. David, these spacecraft… their navigation systems must be extremely precise, right? I wonder what kind of algorithms they use…"
After asking, her heart leapt into her throat, fingers clenching the hem of her clothes. This was an extremely risky probe. She was attempting to touch a field that might arouse vigilance—her old specialty: computers and algorithms. She fixed her gaze on David, not missing a single subtle change on his face.
David's expression remained unchanged, still in his businesslike manner. He was silent for two seconds before speaking, his tone as flat as if stating an objective fact: "According to public sources, they mostly use redundant design Kalman filters and its variant algorithms, combined with star trackers and deep-space networks for calibration. The specific details are highly classified by the respective space agencies of each country."
His answer was professional and precise, entirely based on "public sources," without overstepping any boundaries, yet it contained no interruptions or warnings.
Isabella's heartbeat quickened, not from fear, but from a strange excitement. He answered! He didn't immediately scold or warn her not to inquire about this!
She forced her voice to remain steady, even adding a touch of well-placed curiosity: "It sounds really complicated. I just think that anyone who can write that kind of code is truly impressive." She subtly expressed a hint of admiration, disguising herself as a naive outsider curious about technology.
David's gaze lingered on her face for a moment, that look seeming a millimeter deeper than usual, but only for an instant. He nodded slightly: "It does require top-tier talent and teamwork." He then shifted his tone back to his duties: "Please finish your breakfast first. The doctor will come later to replace the bandage on your ankle and… the suppressor patch."
Suppressor patch. The word hit like a bucket of cold water, instantly dousing the adventurous excitement that had just risen within Isabella. The cold tentacles of reality wrapped around her again. She silently lowered her head and continued eating mechanically.
David quietly withdrew.
After the door closed, Isabella immediately set down her food. She had lost her appetite, but forced herself to finish the milk. David's reaction had revealed a faint glimmer of possibility—perhaps he wasn't as completely cold as he appeared. Perhaps… there existed an extremely limited space for some degree of "safe" communication? Even if it was only on technical topics.
This discovery was like finding an almost invisible hairline crack on an impenetrable iron plate, allowing a faint wisp of air to seep through.
The doctor arrived on time, performing a routine check of her ankle. "Recovery is good. You can try light weight-bearing, but avoid standing for long periods." The doctor's words remained concise and professional, then it was time to replace the suppressor patch.
The old, icy patch was peeled off. Fresh air touched the glandular skin, and in that instant, a more pronounced, subtle tingling accompanied by a vague emptiness surged through her, making Isabella shiver lightly. The new patch was applied, and the stronger icy calm forcibly suppressed all unrest again.
"The dosage seems… a bit different?" Isabella couldn't help whispering, her heart tightening with concern. She feared this stronger control, and also feared that the suppressed sensation—the one foretelling her worst fears—might come true.
The doctor handled it with practiced skill, his tone unchanged: "It's just a minor adjustment for more stable effects and your comfort. Rest assured, all components have undergone the strictest safety testing."
The same explanation again. Isabella pressed her lips tightly, asking no further questions. She knew she wouldn't get any answers.
After the doctor left, she picked up the tablet again, but could no longer focus on the vast starry skies. Her fingers unconsciously swiped through the search bar, and a wild thought suddenly seized her.
She quickly, almost holding her breath, entered a combination of keywords—not directly searching for sensitive information, but interspersing some aerospace terms seen in the documentaries with extremely basic, entry-level programming concepts. Her heartbeat pounded like a drum, eyes nervously fixed on the screen, both eager and fearful to see the results.
The loading circle on the screen spun, each second feeling like a century.
Finally, the page refreshed. Most of the results were still the vetted popular science articles and documentary links, but… far down the list, in an inconspicuous corner, appeared a technical paper abstract with the name of a specific algorithm in the title! Although clicking it revealed no full text—only the abstract and a few inconsequential reference links—this was enough to make Isabella's heart nearly leap out of her chest!
The internal network's security firewall… seemed not completely impenetrable! Or rather, its filtering rules were mainly aimed at social, political, and Omega rights-related sensitive areas. For this highly specialized, seemingly purely technical academic information, there existed an extremely subtle loophole?!
This discovery made her fingers tremble with excitement. She suddenly covered her mouth to prevent herself from making a sound. This could be hope! This could be the only opportunity she could exploit!
Even though she currently had no computer, couldn't write code, and wasn't sure how useful this loophole might be, it meant that this fortress, absolutely controlled by Alexander Kane and seemingly impregnable, was not as flawless as she had imagined!
While she was immersed in the thrill and chaotic thoughts brought by this enormous discovery, completely unaware, the man in the study was facing a sudden storm.
At the Kane Group's top-level command center, the atmosphere was even more tense than during the Asia-Pacific crisis. Massive electronic screens displayed real-time satellite maps of Emerald City's port and chaotic data streams—this was an important logistics hub and energy import base for the Kane Group.
A sudden, unusually severe weather event hit the Emerald City waters. Giant waves and fierce winds caused a Kane Group supertanker to go off course and collide violently with port facilities! Alarms for crude oil leakage blared sharply throughout the command center, and the red areas on the screens, representing the spread of the spill, were rapidly expanding.
"Report, Mr. Kane! The Sea Conditions Department failed to provide timely warnings of this storm's intensity!"
"There are design disputes regarding the port breakwaters; they failed to withstand the impact effectively!"
"The captain of the supertanker 'Poseidon' made a poor decision, attempting to force entry into the port!"
"Environmental Protection Agency and Port Authority personnel are en route; media helicopters have already taken off!"
A flurry of terrible news came flying in. Executives and engineers were in utter chaos, each face written with panic. This incident was not merely a matter of massive financial loss; it would also trigger severe environmental disasters and a public trust crisis, delivering a devastating blow to the reputation of the Kane Group!
Amidst the chaos, Alexander Kane stood at the command platform, his expression so dark it seemed to drip water, yet he did not panic like the others. Those gray-blue eyes were as sharp as an eagle's, quickly scanning every piece of data and each image on the screens.
"Shut up," his cold voice was not loud, yet instantly overpowered all the noise and chaos.
The entire command center fell completely silent.
He grabbed a communicator, his voice cutting like a blade, transmitted via encrypted channels directly to the Emerald City incident site thousands of kilometers away: "This is Alexander Kane, now follow my orders."
"First, initiate the 'Deep Blue Protocol.' All rescue and cleanup teams respond with highest priority, regardless of cost."
"Second, block all information channels at the site. No images or data may be released without my permission. Have the Group's PR and legal teams immediately coordinate with all media and official agencies."
"Third, the captain of the 'Poseidon' must take immediate control. All navigation logs and black box data are to be sealed. Without my orders, no one may access them."
"Fourth, contact the Norton Group and 'remind' them that the full investigation report on the North Sea oilfield spill three years ago is still in my safe."
He spoke at incredible speed, with clear logic. Every instruction struck precisely at the most critical points. No shouting, no questioning—only absolute calm and unquestionable command. He even leveraged his opponent's old scandal to buy time and negotiation leverage.
"Technical team, simulate the leak spread trends and the optimal containment plan; I want results within ten minutes."
"Finance department, estimate maximum loss and contingency budget."
"Security department, control all relevant personnel and ensure no 'accidents' occur."
Each command flowed from his mouth like cold code, rapidly forcing the chaotic scene into an orderly emergency track. His powerful, almost terrifying aura permeated the command center—not merely oppression, but more like a coercive sedative, compelling everyone under his absolute authority to calm down and execute efficiently.
He was like an emperor at the center of the storm, using absolute will and ruthless measures to forcibly suppress the situation that was on the verge of spiraling out of control.
In the midst of the bustle, his gaze occasionally swept over a side screen—a static surveillance feed of the "Silent" suite. In the frame, that small figure was still curled up on the sofa, holding a tablet, seemingly still watching those documentaries, quiet as a painting.
That image formed a strange contrast with the storm center he occupied at the moment. Inexplicably, amid the complex crisis management and cold calculation, glimpsing that corner of calm strangely eased the violent agitation and anxiety surging in his heart.
But at this moment, he had no time to ponder this subtle emotional fluctuation; all his attention was focused on dealing with the disaster before him.
Meanwhile, in the suite, Isabella had no knowledge of the shocking storm unfolding at the other end of the top floor. She was heart racing over that seemingly trivial discovery about the algorithm paper, as if she had grasped the first straw capable of prying open her fate.