The monitors hummed with a low, insectile whine that Sterling had long stopped hearing. Twelve screens, arranged in a grid above his desk, bathed the windowless office in shifting blue light. He sat in the dark, a silhouette among the glow, his chair positioned so no screen ever caught him full in the face. He preferred to watch from the edge of things. Always had.
Screen four: Chloe. She lay on her narrow bed in the medical wing, arms at her sides, fingers occasionally twitching. Not random twitches-
Sterling had studied the footage enough to know. Her hand would lift, palm up, fingers curling like she was trying to cup something just out of reach.
The waves, the others called it. Reaching for the waves. He'd never asked what they meant. He didn't need to. The synthetic silver did its
