Tilly was lost after three turns. The Georgia Cybersecurity Command Center was a simple building—clear sight lines, long corridors, large, sun-seeking windows—but it had the soul of a labyrinth. Its every element encouraged paranoia. The walls were blindingly white, the artwork was unmemorable, the rooms weren’t numbered, the people ducked their heads. It was as if the entire building was one continuous surface, expanding in all directions yet leading nowhere, an architectural koan. Rick’s tacky Nikes, a schlocky, ectoplasmic green, were the only object in her field of vision that had definite shape, but even they were becoming an indistinct blur as their escort—he hadn’t told them his name—led them deeper into the atrium of the complex.
After more turns and two card swipes, they eventual
