Including his.
No wonder they pushed the zoning bill so fast.
They’re clearing the pieces off the game board before the fire starts.
“Jesus Christ…” I choke, scanning the page. “They’re planning the fucking battlefield.”
The print jobs spit page after page onto the tray. I keep my breathing rhythmic, controlled. I’m not panicking.
I’m burning.
The last page prints.
I grab it and shove it into my coat, along with the others.
Then I turn and head for the system logs.
I move mechanically now—muscle memory and raw fear guiding my hands. I erase my activity under a dummy session ID. Backdoor-purge the automated flags. Leave one false keystroke trail on a terminal two districts away.
If someone backtracks this, they’ll chase a ghost.
Not me.
When it’s done, I stand there for a moment in the dark chamber, the screens humming and glowing as if mocking me.
I take one steady breath.
Then I turn and walk out.
Past the server stacks.
Past the locked blast doors.
Back into the hallway.
The click of my heels is the only sound for a long time after the door seals shut.
I step outside into a hard neon drizzle—the kind that leaves streaks of pink and blue glow on your skin long after the water dries.
The city hums and swarms and gleams around me.
And I am—not the same girl who walked into that archive.
That version of me is dead.
This one?
She’s a traitor to the people who raised her.
A weapon against a machine she once believed in.
Maybe a fugitive tomorrow.
But right now…
I feel clear.
Cold.
