The flicker of the console’s holographic interface cast eerie shadows across Bintang’s face as he leaned in close, eyes scanning the encrypted data streams streaming through the network. His breath was steady, but inside, a storm of thoughts raged. The intercepted messages hinted at a rapid escalation—moves calculated to destabilize the fragile balance that the Resistance had painstakingly maintained.
A soft knock echoed from the back room, barely audible over the hum of the equipment.
“Bintang?” Clarissa’s voice was cautious but firm as she slipped through the curtain.
He gestured for her to join him at the console. “You’re late.”
She smiled grimly, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. “Traffic was a nightmare. I brought something.”