CONTROL ROOMGiff wasn't himself. His hands moved in jerky, arrhythmic patterns—touching the collar of his shirt, his jaw, the edge of the console—and every motion betrayed the storm breaking behind his eyes. The technicians at their stations had stopped looking at him directly. They had learned, over the past hour, that eye contact was an invitation.He slammed both palms flat against the central table. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot and three analysts flinched in unison."Are you all a bunch of fools?" His voice came out torn, ragged. "Are you trying to tell me I hired incompetents for a project worth billions? Billions." He spat the number like it was a curse, and the technicians bent lower over their keyboards, fingers flying, faces pale.The problem had started the previous evening. At the exact moment Alex and Karina had crossed the threshold of that white-and-blue cottage on the hill, the feeds had died. No satellite, drone or thermal. Just static and silenc