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Her eyebrows rose. “That specific?”

“No.”

She stared at me, waiting for the rest.

“I dislike round numbers.”

For one second, she looked as though she might laugh.

The corner of her mouth pulled up, and she pressed her lips together to stop it.

Then she remembered why we were packing.

Her arms dropped to her sides.

“So six minutes and we run?”

“We leave.”

“Difference?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t ask what the difference was.

She grabbed her bag from beside the chair and began stuffing clothing into it.

I checked the exterior feed once.

The screen remained dark, no movement in the perimeter sensors.

A hollow calm.

That meant very little.

“If they wanted a firefight,” I said, my voice low, “they wouldn’t have sent a warning first.”

Talia looked up from her bag, her fingers pausing on the strap. “If they know exactly where we are, why aren’t they already here?”

“Because they want me to complete the mission.”

My thumb brushed over the cool edge of the terminal.

Her laugh was sharp, brittle. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.”

“Good. Because it doesn’t.”

A soft chime signaled the transfer’s completion.

I ejected the storage module, then drove my palm hard into the terminal’s casing.

The local routing core shattered with a wet, electrical crackle.

Talia flinched at the sound. “You’re breaking it?”

“Yes.”