The incubator was silent, too silent. The overhead lights were low, pooling her workspace in the corner of the room with angled shadows while leaving the rest of the room lost in darkness. Piles of printouts from her simulations littered her desk, pages of her script of handwritten notes (meticulous, to a degree only Shylie could read), sprawling logic trees (scribbled in the margins), decision branches, thoughtfully annotated. Conditions for every potential failure had been mapped and re-mapped, re-evaluated again and again, revised to the point of obsessive perfection. No mistakes. No blindspots. No allowances for weakness. She had rewritten her version of the core of the platform by hand, already envisioning what would happen when she opened it up to the rest of the school. She'd gone through every line, every decision point, every potential outcome and evaluated, measured, and double-checked it. Triple-checked. It was more than secure now. It was perfe
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