Luke tapped a pen against the metal edge of the console, his eyes tracking the line across the secondary display. I leaned in beside him, following the trace. Another test run. Another dead end. "Still clean on the steady run," he said, shaking his head. "No weird current spikes, no mechanical drag, no physical vibration anywhere on the frame." I rested both hands on the edge of the desk, staring at the telemetry. We’d spent the last hour running the rig through its paces, trying to pin down why the transition spike kept tripping the safety ceiling. "The sensor logged it again, though," I said, pointing the tip of my stylus at the red blip frozen at the marker. Luke looked at the cliff-shaped peak on the screen. "That isn't coming from the motor." "No," I agreed, pulling up the saved waveform from the jump test and splitting the screen. "Look at the shape. The motor’s surge climbs at a steady, predictable angle. The red spike shoots up like a wall and collapses almost vertically. If the sensor were just picking up the motor's physical reaction to the load, the curve would have the same profile. It doesn't. It's a completely different shape." Luke’s eyes narrowed as he studied the two lines side by side. "So whatever the sensor is catching, it isn't just an exaggerated echo of the motor kicking on." "Exactly," I said. "It's its own signal. Something else is creating it." Luke let out a low whistle, looking from the monitor to the silent, heavy block of steel in the center of the bay. A quick, genuine grin broke across his face. "Good eye, Mercer. We still don't know what it is, but at least we know it has its own fingerprint." "Small victories," I said. "Now we just have to figure out what’s leaving the print." "Tomorrow," Luke said, pushing back from the console and rolling his shoulders with a tired crack. "My brain is officially saturated. If I stare at these numbers for another ten minutes, I'm going to start seeing patterns in the floor tiles." "Go home, Hayes." "Leaving," he promised, gathering his clipboard. "See you tomorrow, Mercer." "Tomorrow." By Friday afternoon, the living room had finally returned to its natural state. Jess was kneeling on the rug by the coffee table, wrestling the zipper shut on her bulging green duffel bag while her psychology flashcards were tucked safely into an outer pocket. "Sarah texted," Jess said around a bobby pin held between her teeth. "The boyfriend got kicked out of his competitive gaming guild for throwing a controller through a drywall panel. He moved back to his fraternity house. The dorm is officially safe again." "A victory for higher education," I said, leaning against the kitchen island with a mug of green tea. "A victory for my sleep schedule," she corrected, hauling the bag upright. "Claire," NELL’s level voice announced from the ceiling grille. "Your calendar contains an event next Wednesday at 19:00 labeled 'Trivia.' Travel time has not been configured." "I know," I answered the ceiling. "O’Malley’s is eighteen minutes away under typical evening traffic conditions," NELL supplied helpfully. Jess froze halfway through slinging the duffel strap over her shoulder. Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide and instantly alert. "Trivia?" she asked. "Apparently." "On a Wednesday?" "That is generally when Wednesday trivia occurs, yes." "With people?" "Don't make it weird, Jess." "I didn't say anything." "Your face did." Jess grinned, hitching the strap higher. "Have fun answering questions about things nobody cares about." "I intend to dominate." "Obviously." She grabbed her laptop case and headed for the front door. "Thanks for the couch. Don't let your robot starve you." The door latched behind her. I took my tea to the sofa and reclaimed the corner Jess had buried beneath textbooks for the past few days. One abandoned neon pink highlighter was wedged between the cushions. I pulled it out, set it on the coffee table, and picked up my phone from where it had been resting on the armrest. A notification lit the screen. [Luke Hayes]: "Did you know a group of pugs is called a grumble?" I looked at the message for a second longer than was strictly necessary. [Claire]: "I did not know that. That is deeply useless information. Thank you for your service." The three-dot indicator appeared almost immediately. [Luke Hayes]: "You’re welcome. I thought of you." I stared at the four words on the glass. My thumbs moved across the keyboard. [Claire]: "I accept this association." I locked the phone and set it face-down on the cushion. Monday morning, Lab 7 was cool and quiet before the main corridor lights fully powered on. I carried my travel mug across the concrete floor and stopped in front of the wide whiteboard beside the console. Friday’s dead ends and abandoned voltage checks still covered half the surface in faded black marker. I picked up the felt eraser. One by one, I cleared the clutter. The old test settings went first, wiped away in a clean, powdery swipe. Then two obsolete measurements we had eliminated before the weekend. Then a lopsided question mark Luke had drawn next to the sensor cable. The felt pad swept downward and stopped. Right in the middle of the board, untouched by the weekend, was: 4. CLAIRE REQUIRES FEEDING. I looked at the crooked lettering. I didn't reach for the marker. I didn't reach for the rag. I brought the eraser down three inches, routed cleanly around his handwriting, and wiped away the stale notes underneath.

Chapter 7: Unauthorized Routes