TRACYSparks popped from the overheating external drive, stinging my bare forearm.I yanked my hand back, cursing under my breath. Fixing this corrupted data meant picking through millions of lines of digital garbage. Gray morning light filtered through the rain-streaked bedroom windows of the packhouse, offering zero comfort against the stifling August humidity. My head pounded. The traditional suppressant Dr. Evans pumped into my veins kept the Lunar Decay at bay, but it left a bitter, metallic taste coating my tongue.I had to compile this recovered AI data today. If I didn't build a stable diagnostic model from these fragments, Chandler’s sabotage would permanently kill my research.Grabbing my phone, I hit Sam’s speed dial."Tell me you found a shortcut," Sam answered, his voice thick with sleep and stress. Keystrokes clattered loudly in the background."There are no shortcuts, Sam." Dragging a hand down my tired face, I stared at the frozen progress bar on my laptop. "The neural
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