The ride back to the VanceTech tower was punctuated by the rhythmic, hypnotic hum of the city’s nocturnal traffic. Elara sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the blurred neon lights of the financial district, her fingers drumming a steady, thoughtful pattern against the leather armrest.
I sat beside her, eyes closed, letting my Qi cycle back into my core after the surgical exertion. While I projected the image of a man finally succumbing to fatigue, my mind was scanning the local network for signs of surveillance.
"The hospital administration is already scrambling," Elara said, breaking the silence. Her phone screen glowed with a cascade of urgent, encrypted alerts. "They’ve already locked down the surgical theater. They’re seizing the CCTV data, probably to delete any record of wha
