I open a secure messaging application installed on a separate partition of my phone, designed to leave no digital footprint. My message to Lila is brief, encrypted with a key only she possesses:
"Secure original Chen, Westmoreland, Blackwell, Hargrove files immediately upon arrival. Trust docs compromised. Tell no one. Confirmation required."
I press send, knowing the message will delete itself from both our devices once read. Lila will understand the urgency without explanation—it's why I hired her, this instinctive recognition of priority that mirrors my own.
My hands tremble slightly as I continue working, fatigue settling into my muscles like an unwelcome guest. The recent full moon has left me more drained than I care to admit, the transformation taking a heavier toll with each cyc
