The laboratory was silent except for the soft hum of Maya's specialized equipment when James arrived at precisely 6:30 the next morning. He paused in the doorway, Echo at his side, taking in the acoustic signature of the room—the subtle buzz of Maya's machines, the gentle tap of her fingers on a keyboard, the almost imperceptible sound of her breathing.
"You're exactly on time," she said without turning, her voice carrying the slight flat quality that James had come to recognize as characteristic of someone who had never heard their own voice.
"So are you," he replied with a small smile. "Did you sleep at all?"
Maya's chair squeaked as she turned toward him. "A few hours. I was reconstructing the frequencies from all three attacks. There's a progression I couldn't see before."
James ma
