RYAN'S POV
The Deep Lab was not what I expected. Back at the CSI, deep usually meant a windowless basement with flickering fluorescent lights and the smell of ozone and desperation. This was different. It was a cathedral of glass and light, carved into the very shelf of the island, where the walls were lined with liquid-cooled server racks that pulsed with a soft, rhythmic cyan glow. I sat at a workstation that felt like the cockpit of a starship. The interface was haptic, responding to the slightest twitch of my fingers, and the processing power hummed beneath the desk like a tethered beast.
"Don't get comfortable, Junior," Sophie said without looking up.
She was suspended in a specialized ergonomic chair at the center of the room, surrounded by six floating holographic displays. Her hands were moving through the air, plucking strings of code and weaving them into complex, shimmering lattices. She looked less like a coder and more like a conductor directing a digital symphony.
