The winter air in Manhattan had finally begun to yield to the first, tentative whispers of spring. From the panoramic windows of the Arcadia Global Headquarters, the city no longer looked like a jagged fortress of ice, but like a living organism beginning to breathe again. Hana Wijaya-Raka stood at the edge of the eighty-eighth floor, her fingers tracing the rim of a single ceramic mug. The steam rose in a slow, steady column, mirroring the quiet focus of her own mind. She wasn’t looking at the markets this morning; she was looking at the way the light hit the streets below, illuminating the gaps between the buildings.
"You’re searching for the 'Human Lag' again, aren't you?"
The voice was low, warm, and vibrated with a familiarity that made Hana’s heart settle into a peaceful rhythm. Sh
