By the time the sleek sedan pulled into the private underground parking garage of Yang Muchen's suburban estate, the rain had settled into a steady, rhythmic drone. The concrete walls echoed the low, guttural hum of the engine as Yang Muchen brought the car to a smooth stop in his private, heavily secured berth.
Chen Ying did not move immediately. She remained wrapped in the thick woolen blanket, her dark eyes still fixed on the scrolling green strings of data reflecting across her phone screen. Her fingers had stopped typing, but her mind was operating at an astronomical frequency, discarding dead ends and reweaving the digital net she had cast over the theater's lease.
