My feet moved on instinct, unguided by conscious thought.
I crossed the penthouse’s silent expanse, every step deliberate, drawn forward by the open briefcase perched on the marble counter. It gaped like a raw, black fissure cut into the sterile luxury—its interior lining no ordinary leather, matte and light-absorbent, swallowing the penthouse’s recessed glow until nothing but shadow remained. No reflection. No warmth. Only concealed darkness.
Within it, every asset was arranged with military, unforgiving precision. Hardened tablets, color-tabbed folders stacked in rigid alignment, a compact solid-state drive built to withstand catastrophic force. Layered atop them were maps—topographic grids, geological scans, high-altitude satellite surveys—annotated in a script too sharp for academia,
