Monday Night – Jake's Office
The storm had passed, but the windowpane still wore streaks of rain, dragged downward by gravity and time. Outside, the Wilson household had gone still. Emma had turned in early with Ariel; Ethan's bedroom light flickered once, then clicked off.
Jake sat alone, the only motion in the house the slow rise and fall of his chest.
The system interface blinked to life before him, casting his face in a soft, synthetic glow—blues, greens, soft pulses of tactical light that wrapped around his features like digital fog.
He didn't blink as the loading bar crawled across the screen.
The room smelled faintly of old coffee, leather, and static.
His mug—half-full, untouched—had cooled an hour ago. He didn't reach for it.
Jake:
"System. Run Bratislava."
The prompt shimmered. Files flickered into view.
Game tapes, analytics, tactical maps, and one quiet line of code rolling in green typeface at the bottom of the panel.
