The quiet of the transit carriage provided Zeta with the first opportunity to truly breathe since the drone had departed the library. He sat near the rear window, watching the blur of industrial sector lights fade into the dark, desolate outskirts of the city. His heart rate had stabilized, but his mind remained a tempest of calculations and emerging memories. He reached into his coat, his fingers brushing against the cold, familiar texture of the floppy disk. It felt heavier now, as if the data etched into its magnetic surface carried the physical weight of his own uncertain future.
He took a cautious glance around the cabin. It was mostly empty, populated only by a few night-shift laborers slumped in their seats, their faces illuminated by the rhythmic, strobe-like effect of the passi
