"Something came up."
"Something always comes up with you. That's the problem."
"New Gate. Unregistered. Sector 12. Residential district. Seventy-two hours to formation."
Silence. Not the angry kind. The processing kind. I could almost hear the gears of her mind engaging, sorting variables and mapping contingencies the way she always did when tactical reality overrode emotional priority.
"How do you know?" she asked.
"Same source as Helena. Same source as the pier."
"The anonymous tipster who knows everything about you and your father and has access to classified VHC intelligence."
"That's the one."
"And you trust this information."
"They've been right twice. The math favors a pattern over coincidence."
Another silence. Shorter this time. "Sector 12 is families. Schools. A community center with a daycare."
"I know."
