The rain had stopped, but the city still smelled like wet asphalt and electricity.
Inside Blackwood Tower, Damian stood in the dim glow of the analytics floor, staring at the recovered warehouse server as if it were a living thing capable of lying to him. The small external drive sat plugged into the forensic workstation, its metal casing warped from the fire that had destroyed the warehouse.
Evidence that had almost vanished.
Grant leaned over the console beside the data recovery specialist, arms folded as lines of reconstructed code scrolled slowly across the screen.
“Seventy-two percent of the data sectors are restored,” the specialist said. “It’s not perfect, but the administrative logs are intact.”
Damian didn’t blink.
“Show me the emergency control activity.”
The woman nodded
