Nolan doesn’t sleep.
He dozes for maybe twenty minutes at his desk around four a.m., chin tucked to his chest, a printout creasing under his forearm, and jerks awake to the soft crick of his own neck
The anomaly is still there when his eyes refocus.
Tiny, stubborn, undeniable.
By eight, the building is awake. Assistants murmured into phones. Elevators dinging. The regular hum of a company that has no idea its foundations are crawling with ghosts.
Nolan rides the private lift up with a folder under his arm and a knot between his shoulder blades.
He could wait.
He could refine the charts, pull another comparison set, and give Cass more time to strengthen the case.
But if there’s one thing he’s learning in this mess, it’s that whoever is playing them is banking on their delay.
He pus
