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Including his.

No wonder they pushed the zoning bill so fast.

They’re clearing the pieces off the game board before the fire starts.

“Jesus Christ…” I choke, scanning the page. “They’re planning the fucking battlefield.”

The print jobs spit page after page onto the tray. I keep my breathing rhythmic, controlled. I’m not panicking.

I’m burning.

The last page prints.

I grab it and shove it into my coat, along with the others.

Then I turn and head for the system logs.

I move mechanically now—muscle memory and raw fear guiding my hands. I erase my activity under a dummy session ID. Backdoor-purge the automated flags. Leave one false keystroke trail on a terminal two districts away.

If someone backtracks this, they’ll chase a ghost.

Not me.

When it’s done, I stand there for a moment in the dark chamber, the screens humming and glowing as if mocking me.

I take one steady breath.

Then I turn and walk out.

Past the server stacks.

Past the locked blast doors.

Back into the hallway.

The click of my heels is the only sound for a long time after the door seals shut.

I step outside into a hard neon drizzle—the kind that leaves streaks of pink and blue glow on your skin long after the water dries.

The city hums and swarms and gleams around me.

And I am—not the same girl who walked into that archive.

That version of me is dead.

This one?

She’s a traitor to the people who raised her.

A weapon against a machine she once believed in.

Maybe a fugitive tomorrow.

But right now…

I feel clear.

Cold.