Peter's fingers tightened around the printed document so hard that the edges bent slightly beneath his grip, but he still did not look away from the page. The operations floor had fallen into a silence so complete that even the distant server hum now sounded sharp against the pressure building inside the room. Caro remained frozen beside the conference table, her pulse crashing painfully against her ribs as she watched Peter's expression shift piece by piece into something colder, heavier, harder to read. Whatever was written inside that file had reached him differently than the system messages had. This was no longer suspected floating through corrupted networks. This was something physical. Intentional. Personal.
"Sir?" one of the analysts asked cautiously from across the room. "What is it?"
