I couldn't sleep.
It was five in the morning — that dead hour when the world is gray and the ocean is a sound without a shape. I went to the villa's upper balcony with a cup of coffee and watched the Atlantic turn from black to blue. The vacation was at its midpoint. Ten days in, ten days left. The System had been quiet — no missions, no targets, just the occasional sarcastic notification telling me to eat the flan and stop analyzing things. It was the longest I'd gone without a directive since the System had activated in my dorm room a lifetime ago.
Claire found me at five-thirty. She was always an early riser — the tactical mind never slept fully, even on vacation. She appeared on the balcony with her own coffee, sat in the chair beside mine, and said nothing for five minutes. We watched the ocean do what the ocean does.
"You're up early," I said.
