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Numbers.
Transfers.
Approvals routed through shadow channels.
It clicks.
“What am I looking at?” I ask.
Ronan exhales.
“A black budget oversight group.”
Silence.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“Meaning?” I press.
“They were watching her,” he says.
“From the beginning.”
Before the NGO.
Before the archive.
Before the flash drive.
Before she even knew what she was building.
“They didn’t hijack her work,” I say slowly.
Ronan shakes his head.
“No.”
The word lands heavy.
“They cultivated it.”
And now—
“They’re harvesting it.”
The room goes still.
Because this just got bigger.
A lot bigger.
38
Unknown
“She’s holding,” someone says.
