The morning hum of Sentinel HQ was already beginning to rise by the time Matthew Borja stepped through the glass-paneled entrance on the 41st floor. Despite the hour, the space was already alive—engineers tapping away at terminals, lead officers murmuring over schematics, and the subtle undertone of logistics wheels moving crates into the underground elevators.
Matthew walked past them with a nod, greeted absently by those who passed. He was dressed clean and sharp as ever, but there was something new in the way his shoulders moved—less weight, maybe. Or maybe a different kind entirely.
He reached his usual workstation and flipped open a report showing overnight progress from TBM Aurora. The metrics were strong. Breakthrough rates were improving. But his eyes barely moved across the numbers. His mind was elsewhere.
