Finn's world wasn't made of words, but of frequencies. While others debated strategy and pored over information, he strolled through the Haven listening to the hum of its group mind. And lately, the hum had developed a discordant static.
It began with the smallest of tells, resonances of anxiety that spread through the pack's wordless language. He noticed it in how Lyra now paused for a half-second before entering the command center, her body stiffening as if preparing itself for an impact. The careful, analytical virologist was now haunted, her eyes drifting toward the main data screen not with intensity, but with a kind of weary suspicion, as if waiting for the next digital ghost to appear.
He heard it in the new rhythm of conversation. Where there had been a comfortable give-and-take
