The infirmary of the Thorne Interceptor smelled of sterile plastic and the faint, ozone-heavy scent of the bio-static field. Leo lay on the cot, his face ashen, his breathing shallow. He wasn't dreaming; he was "offline." For the first time in weeks, the constant hum of the world’s data had been silenced in his mind, leaving a void that felt like a physical ache.
"He's stable, but the neural pathways are frayed," Elara whispered, staring at the translucent monitors hovering over her son.
Lucian stood by the armory locker, checking the charge on his kinetic-pulse rifle. "Stable isn't enough, Elara. Liling said the 'First Correction' starts at dawn. That’s four hours from now. If the Oracle goes live without Leo’s oversight, the global markets won't just crash—they'll be 'optimized' by a m
