The screen went black for three heartbeats. Then, a white progress bar appeared, crawling from left to right like a slow dawn.
He leaned back. The chair creaked. Somewhere in the walls, a pipe sighed. And for the first time in months, the silence felt clean.
He’d typed this command before, in anger, in frustration, in the blind panic of a virus alert. But this time was different. This time it was deliberate. Almost ritualistic.