"Bisma notices Meira's visible distress and gently asks if she is hiding something from him."
"We need to reconfigure our secondary firewall immediately before their tracking algorithms lock onto our backup frequency," Meira said, her voice sounding unusually strained as her fingers danced rapidly across the mechanical keys of the main control terminal.
The heavy atmosphere inside the shadow faction's tactical war room felt like a physical weight pressing down on every surface, smelling faintly of hot ozone from overworked server racks and cold coffee left untouched in metal cups.
Bisma stepped away from the perimeter map on the far wall, his dark eyes narrowing as he observed the unnatural stiffness in Meira's posture and the fine sheen of nervous sweat glistening on her forehead.
