And processes don’t panic.
They adapt.
Aaron
“Ronan,”I say, voice low over the roar of the engine, “they’re not going to a safehouse.”
“I know,” he replies instantly. “They’re heading for a node.”
“Define.”
“A place where something moves,” he says. “Data. Power. Control.”
My mind snaps through possibilities.
Freight yards.
Substations.
Old relay hubs.
Places built to connect things.
Or break them.
“They want to plug her in,” I say.
“Yes.”
Cold anger settles in my chest.
Not explosive.
Not loud.
Focused.
“They’re not hiding her,” I growl. “They’re going to use her.”
“Which means they’ll stop soon,” Ronan says.
“Good.”
My grip tightens on the throttle.
I push harder.
Faster.
Let the bike scream.
Let the city blur.
Because every second matters now.
Every second—
She’s closer to them.
