Chapter 112:


    “Eighteen percent,” Mark breathed, adjusting his sses. “We were hoping for five. Eighteen changes the entire industry.”


    He looked at Isolde with something approaching reverence. “You did that… in your head?”


    “I had help,” Isolde said, tapping her temple. “I didn’t leave my brain on the pavement.”


    ire’s face turned a mottled red. She reached for the drive. “I’ll… I’ll take this to And.”


    “Leave it,” a deep voice said from across the room.


    And Roth stood at the entrance of the bullpen in a navy suit, his expression unreadable. He had been watching for thest ten minutes.


    He walked forward, the cluster of engineers parting around him. He studied the screen, then looked at Isolde’s pale, sweat-damp face.


    “ire,” And said, his voice deceptively quiet. “Did you assign this task?”


    “I was ensuring the project stayed on schedule, sir,” ire stammered. “I presented the deadline as a challenge—”


    “You didn’t think she could do it,” And said. “You gave a senior engineer recovering from a major injury a three-day workload with a two-hour deadline. That isn’t management, ire. That’s setting a colleague up to fail.”


    “I was testing her capacity!” ire argued, her voice pitched with desperation. “Her file says she’s been out of the field for five years. We can’t afford to carry anyone!”


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    And pointed at the screen. “The person you’re trying to ‘carry’ just saved us six months of R&D. That code is the Sophia Algorithm. Do you know who Sophia is?”


    ire shook her head.


    “You’re looking at her,” And said.


    A collective intake of breath moved through the room. The legend. The ghost. The Valkyrie.


    Isolde sat straighter. She didn’t feel like a legend. She felt as though she might be sick from the pain.


    “Apologize,” And said.


    ire looked at the floor. “I’m sorry.”


    “To her,” And said sharply. “Look at her.”


    ire lifted her eyes. They were full of humiliation. “I’m sorry, Isolde. I underestimated you.”


    “You didn’t underestimate me,” Isolde said quietly. “You underestimated yourself. You thought the only way to shine was to blow out someone else’s candle.”


    She stood, swaying slightly. “I’m going to get some water.”


    “Mark,” And said, “set up Isolde’s office. The corner one, next to mine. Her title is Chief Systems Architect.”


    “Yes, sir,” Mark said, visibly pleased.


    And caught Isolde’s elbow as she passed him, his grip careful not to jostle her brace.


    “You okay?” he murmured.


    “I’m fine,” Isolde said.


    “You’re shaking.”


    “Adrenaline,” she said. “And maybe a little spite.”


    And chuckled quietly. “Spite is a powerful fuel. Just don’t burn out your engine.”


    “I have a g to attend,” Isolde said, her eyes darkening. “I need all the fuel I can get.”


    It was raining when Isolde left the building that evening — a cold, miserable New York drizzle that soaked through to the bone.


    She waved off And’s offer of a ride. She needed air. She needed space.


    She stepped to the curb and raised her good hand to hail a cab.


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