Ninety minutes became a hundred and twelve, because nothing in my life has ever respected a schedule.
Cheon ran the transport like she was moving cargo for a shipping conglomerate instead of four traumatized people out of a penthouse at seven in the morning. Two vehicles. Different exits. Route changes at four separate points, each one keyed to a traffic camera she'd already blinded.
"You blinded the traffic cameras," I said.
"I introduced a firmware error into the municipal grid on our corridor." She did not look up from her tablet. "It will resolve itself in ninety minutes and appear to be a routine update failure. The city processes eleven of these per month."
"That's terrifying."
"You are welcome."
