A dimly lit safehouse in Jakarta, cluttered with holographic screens and jury-rigged servers. The air hums with the static of overworked machines. Eka crouches over a terminal, her face lit by flickering code, while Bintang paces behind her. Felix sits slumped in a corner, massaging his temples.
The safehouse felt less like a refuge and more like a cage. Ever since Hanoi, their systems had been hemorrhaging data—firewalls breached, encryption keys cracked, ghostly footprints appearing in their darkest corners. Eka’s fingers danced across the holographic keyboard, her usual calm replaced by sharp, jerky movements. A map of Southeast Asia glowed on the central screen, dotted with red pulses that throbbed like infected wounds.
Bintang hovered behind her, arms crossed. Her eyes flicked between the map and Felix, who hadn’t spoken in hours. His posture was rigid, as if bracing against an invisible storm.