The air in the server room hummed with a low, predatory thrum, a mechanical heartbeat that vibrated through my shoes. Fluorescent lights cast long, skeletal shadows across the rows of blinking servers, reflecting off the polished metal of the cooling ducts. Rain lashed against the high, grime-streaked windows, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. I was looking for a ghost, a deleted file swallowed by the digital abyss. The only witnesses were the silent racks, their faces blank and inscrutable, while the scent of ozone and chilled air filled my lungs. I was a rat in a maze, tracing the electric tendrils of information, hoping to uncover the truth before the clock ran out, and my own past, as hidden as that file, caught up with me.
