Sartaj ignored the hallucination, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He had recovered the encrypted drive from Guru ji’s ashram, a piece of hardware that felt hot to the touch, as if the data inside was burning with the fire of the coming apocalypse. Beside him, Batya stood silent, her eyes reflecting the cold blue light of the monitors. She was the bridge between the divine and the destructive, a woman who saw the end of the world not as a tragedy, but as a necessary cleansing.
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