December 12, 2029.
Hana knew it the moment she stepped out of the elevator on the executive floor and saw the inbox count on her phone. Most messages were internal, but the subject lines all carried the same tone. An unnamed source. A blurry photo. A short clip. A rumor with enough detail to be dangerous.
She walked straight into Timothy's office without knocking. The door was open. He was already there, reading a printed sheet with three highlighted lines and a photo that looked like it had been taken through tinted glass. It showed a low blue front end, a sharp headlight signature, and a wheel that did not belong to any TG vehicle line.
"You saw it," Hana said.
Timothy did not look up. "I saw it."
"Where did it come from," Hana asked.
