For one frozen, heart-stopping second, Serena's world consisted of two lines of text on a black screen with a voice on an intercom. Packet Captured. "Mr. Moretti would like you to explain." Triumph and terror hit her simultaneously. Using pure instinct, her fingers flew on the keyboard. Three commands, taken in a time less than a breath. One terminated the packet-sniffing script. Next came the clearing of the command history. Last, she maximized her decoy project window, filling the screen with the cluttered, half-finished lines of her theoretical encryption algorithm. By the time she heard the loud sound of the guard's key card at her door, the laptop screen presented her as a picture of an obsessive academic, not a digital spy. She forced her breathing to slow, controlling her features to show a look of wearied exasperation, the persona of a genius whose work had, alas, been interrupted. Serena was ready to act.

The walk back to Damiano's study was the longest of her life. The steps through the silent, art-filled corridor felt like a free fall into an abyss. The data packet that had been captured sat on the encrypted partition of her laptop like a ticking time bomb, a secret that could either save her life or sign her death warrant. She fixed her eyes on the broad back of the guard, letting the rhythm of their footsteps calm her mind as she walked through the technical details of her cover story, each step solidifying the walls of her lie until they felt like truth. When the doors swung open to the study, the surreal familiarity of the scene greeted her. Damiano stood before the panoramic window, a dark silhouette against the sparkling city skyline. Leo was a pillar of shade near the desk, his presence a palpable weight in the room. This was an interrogation chamber, and she was the main attraction.

He turned slowly, whiskey swirling in the glass in his hand. His silver eyes were sharp, missing nothing. "Leo informs me you've become quite the creature of the night," he began in a low, dangerous purr. "He says you haven't left that machine since it arrived. I'm curious. What obsession could possibly be worth sacrificing sleep over? Show me." The command hung in the air, and the request was almost an insult. A gesture toward the large monitor on the wall flickered to life, ready to mirror her laptop’s screen. The test had begun. Taking steadying breath inside, Serena connected her laptop. The wall-mounted monitor flashed her decoy project. She had begun speaking with an convincingly passionate tone. "It's a symmetric encryption algorithm," she explained, pointing toward some lines of code. "The problem with most modern ciphers is that they are dependent on predictable prime number generation. I'm building a model that uses a nonlinear chaotic function to generate a truly unpredictable key stream. It is theoretically unbreakable." She walked them through the mathematics while using jargon that was both correct and dizzyingly complex, letting her pretend excitement rise.

Then she played her trump card, turning her explanation into a lament. "The problem," she said, letting genuine frustration color her tone, "is, I can't really test it. Your firewall is a fortress. I can't simulate an attack or probe for weaknesses because your network security is just... suffocatingly perfect. It's like forging the world's sharpest sword and only having pillows to test it on." She turned a challenging gaze on Damiano. "My frantic activity, as you call it, was me running diagnostics and simulations over and over again, each one crashing against your security protocols. It's just infuriating." She had complimented his power, justified her frenzied computer usage, and built a bridge from which to escape the suspicion of network anomalies her script might have left behind. Damiano remained silent for a long moment, searching her eyes for the lie. Leo's face gave nothing away, but she could feel the heat and intensity of his gaze. Finally, a slow, appreciative smile curved on Damiano's lips. "Impressive," he said. "A passion for creating unbreakable things. I can identify with that." Serena allowed herself a tiny flicker of relief. He believed her. She had made it through the test.

Yet the game was not over. He set down his glass and came near her, his eyes still holding hers. "Since you have such an appreciation for my fortress, and such a talent for theory," he said, lowering his voice by an octave, "perhaps you can offer your expert opinion on a practical problem." He gestured toward Leo. "As you so cleverly suspected, my house has a rat. A ghost in the machine, as you put it. He is quiet, he is careful, and he is very, very good." He stopped directly in front of her, the heat from his body reaching out to her. "I am tired of hunting shadows. I want this traitor found." Serena's blood ran cold. She knew what was next. "You find my security 'suffocatingly perfect.' I want you to find its flaw. I want you to help us hunt this ghost." It was not a request. He was conscripting her. Fox was being invited to help design the security for the henhouse. Her secret investigation was now an official assignment. "You will work with Leo," Damiano commanded, his silver eyes boring into hers. "You will have the access you need. You will find my traitor. And in return"; he leaned in, his voice a whisper that was for her ears only, "I will be very, very generous." There lay the trap. To refuse would be tantamount to confessing her guilt. To accept would be to assist the one man before whom she dared not slip even once in hunting down the very person whose secrets she was trying to steal. She had made the jump, and it had landed her in every conceivable fiery pit beyond her wildest imagination.