EMMA
The drone’s mechanical hum had faded into the London fog, but the silence it left behind was worse. It was the silence of a house that had been stripped of its locks.
We had retreated to the center of the penthouse, the sprawling living room now feeling like an arena. Gabriel was a statue of vibrating tension, his eyes fixed on the laptop I had balanced on the marble island. I had opened it to check the drone’s signal path, hoping to find a flaw, a way to jam the frequency. Instead, I found a new file—one that shouldn't have been there.
It was titled "THE ARCHITECTURE OF A LUNA."
"Don't open it," Gabriel warned, his voice a low-frequency rumble that made the water in the glass on the counter ripple. "It’s a virus. A psychological one."
"I need to know how he’s doing it, Gabriel.
