But he decided he would give them one last benefit of the doubt. He texted them for the last time. “Please let me in. This isn’t right.” A bubble appeared in reply, vanished, then returned. “We’re meeting ours soon,” they wrote. “We’ll be in touch regarding terms.” Marco stared until the letters blurred into a slow gray fog.
Terms, he thought, are where you draw lines. He lowered the seat, closed his eyes for ten brittle minutes, then sat up and mapped everything. Cameras came first. Sensors second. Audio third. Lights were to be used as punctuation marks. If fear needed a script, he would direct it responsibly.