His hand moved to the mouse before his brain engaged.

“Lost the Archive,” he said, his voice flat.

“You don’t love movies,” she said finally. “You love the hunt.”

A notification pinged. A new leak: a director’s raw assembly cut of a blockbuster, three hours and forty minutes long, no score, no color correction. A digital ghost.

Mira sat down beside him. “What’s this?”

Then the drive labeled The Archive began to click. A slow, rhythmic click-click-click . The sound of a dying heart.