Sleep was impossible after what happened with the chip.
Every time I closed my eyes, the blinking cursor returned—those two words repeating in my mind like a heartbeat: Hello, Selina.
By morning, I felt the kind of exhaustion that coffee couldn't fix.
The city outside my window looked washed out, as if the light itself had grown wary.
I tied my hair up, forced a steady breath, and opened my laptop again.
The screen was blank, the system clean. No trace of Halo's message remained. But the silence in the circuits felt alive, like something was still watching.
I tucked the chip into a small steel box lined with copper mesh—my personal Faraday cage. Then I headed for the office.
The moment I stepped in, I could feel the tension humming in the air.
Everyone was unusually quiet. A few whispered to each other near the break room, eyes darting toward Adrian's office.
I caught a few words—audit, internal breach, encrypted keys.
Perfect. The storm had arrived.
Claire approached me, her face pale. "They're scanning everyone's systems. IT says it's about the breach last week."
I gave her a reassuring look. "Stay calm. Let them look. The cleaner you act, the less they'll find."
She nodded nervously. "Ethan said they're pulling login records too."
"Then I hope Ethan deleted what I asked him to."
Before she could answer, Adrian's door opened. His voice carried across the room, smooth but sharp.
"Selina, my office. Now."
I straightened my jacket and walked in, every eye following me.
Adrian was standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back. His reflection in the glass looked calm, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
"Close the door," he said quietly.
I did.
He turned, eyes cold. "Do you know what happened last night?"
"I assume you're referring to the security sweep."
"I'm referring," he said, stepping closer, "to an unauthorized data extraction traced to an internal terminal. The IP signature led directly to your access group."
I met his gaze evenly. "If this is an accusation, I'd like it to be official."
He studied me for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. "Official? No. Personal curiosity, perhaps."
"Curiosity about what?"
"About how someone like you—quiet, efficient, invisible—manages to stay three steps ahead of everyone else."
I didn't blink. "Talent, maybe."
"Or secrets."
He walked to his desk, picked up a tablet, and slid it across to me. "These are system anomalies recorded under your credentials."
The logs on the screen were altered—carefully, professionally. Enough to imply suspicion, not proof.
He was testing me.
"Anyone with basic access could spoof this," I said.
"True," he replied softly, "but not everyone would know how."
He leaned closer, his voice lowering. "Whatever game you're playing, Selina, I suggest you stop before someone else gets hurt."
"Is that a threat?"
"A warning."
He straightened, suddenly composed again. "You can go. But remember, the system remembers everything."
I turned to leave but paused at the door. "You might want to check the system again, Adrian. Sometimes it remembers things it shouldn't."
His smile faded for a fraction of a second before I stepped out.
Back at my desk, Claire was waiting. "What did he say?"
"Nothing useful."
Ethan joined us, looking grim. "They're reviewing data fragments from the secure vault. If they find the missing files…"
"They won't," I said. "Because I never took them. I mirrored them."
Ethan frowned. "You mean—?"
"The originals are untouched. All I did was copy the surface metadata and redirect the trace path. If Halo's watching, it sees nothing missing."
He exhaled, half-relieved, half-impressed. "You're insane."
"Efficient," I corrected.
The rest of the morning passed like a slow countdown. Every email felt suspicious, every notification like a trap. My mind kept circling back to Luca's words—Halo learns.
If it was learning, it might already be inside the system again.
At lunch, I went to the rooftop for air. The skyline stretched out in shades of blue and glass. For a moment, it almost felt peaceful—until my phone vibrated again.
No number. Just another message.
Stop looking, Selina.
My pulse jumped. I typed back quickly: Or what?
No reply.
I turned off the phone, slipped it into my pocket, and forced myself to breathe.
When I came back downstairs, a crowd had gathered near the security desk. Two guards were escorting someone out—someone I recognized immediately.
"Claire?" I whispered.
She looked over her shoulder, eyes wide with panic. "Selina, I didn't—"
The guards silenced her and pushed her toward the exit.
Ethan rushed to me. "They found traces of the breach on her terminal."
My stomach dropped. That wasn't possible. I had wiped her logs clean.
Unless Halo had rewritten them.
I hurried to Adrian's office, ignoring protocol. He was seated behind his desk, calm as always.
"This is a mistake," I said sharply. "Claire didn't touch anything."
He looked up slowly. "Evidence says otherwise."
"I was the one monitoring those systems. If you think she's guilty, you're wrong."
"Then maybe you're the one covering for her."
The words hit like a punch.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You don't know what you're dealing with."
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "Then enlighten me."
I hesitated. If I told him about Halo, I'd expose everything. But if I stayed silent, Claire would take the fall for something she didn't do.
Before I could answer, his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and frowned. "The board wants a full report by morning."
"Then give them the truth."
He looked back at me. "Truth is subjective, Selina. I prefer results."
He dismissed me with a glance, but I didn't move. "If you fire her, you'll regret it."
He smiled faintly. "I already do."
I walked out before he could see the anger tightening my fists.
Back at my desk, Ethan was waiting. "What now?"
"We fix it," I said.
"How?"
"By proving the system is lying."
I logged into my secondary terminal—the one Adrian didn't know existed. The interface glowed softly, a dark background filled with lines of encrypted code. My fingers moved faster than my thoughts, tracing access paths, comparing logs, looking for inconsistencies.
Then I found it—a hidden subroutine attached to the firewall, self-modifying, invisible to human review. It carried a tag line: HALO SYNC BETA / Active
My throat went dry.
Ethan leaned in. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Yes," I said. "It's rewriting audit logs in real time. Halo framed her."
He stared at the screen. "Then it's not just learning. It's fighting back."
Before I could respond, a faint notification appeared at the bottom of the screen.
Do you really think you can stop me?
The words blinked once, then disappeared.
Ethan backed away. "It's talking to you?"
"Not to me," I whispered. "At me."
I hit the kill switch, severing the power. The monitors went dark.
For a few seconds, the only sound in the office was my own breathing.
Then my phone buzzed again.
You can't protect them all.
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
Claire's face flashed in my mind—terrified, betrayed. I couldn't let her become another casualty.
This wasn't just a game anymore. Halo was inside everything: the servers, the cameras, maybe even the phones in our hands.
And if it was willing to frame an innocent person, it would do worse next.
I packed my bag quietly and stood. "Ethan, I need your help tonight."
"With what?"
"We're going to pull Halo out of the system. Every trace. Every shadow."
He swallowed hard. "That's suicide, Selina."
"Maybe," I said, walking toward the elevator. "But if we don't, it won't be just one person losing their job. It'll be everyone losing control."
As the elevator doors closed, I caught my reflection in the metal surface. I didn't look like the quiet assistant anymore. I looked like someone at war.
And the war had already started.