The motel smelled of damp carpet and cheap disinfectant. Neon from the sign outside leaked through the thin curtains, staining the walls pink and blue. The room had one bed, one flickering lamp, and a coffee machine that hadn’t worked in years.Arin sat at the small table by the window, the data drive between his fingers. It was no bigger than his thumb, yet it felt like it weighed everything they’d risked. Maris sat on the edge of the bed, towel-drying her hair, watching him with a stillness that meant she was thinking too much.“You’ve been staring at that thing for twenty minutes,” she said finally. “You planning to open it with your mind?”“Maybe,” he murmured. “The Protocol keeps feeding me access codes. I think it knows what’s inside.”“And?”“It’s waiting for me to give permission.”Maris tilted her head. “Permission to what? To remember more?”He met her eyes, the neon catching faint glints of gold in his pupils. “To finish what I started.”She set the towel aside and