Tilly was lost after three turns. The Georgia Cybersecurity Command Center was a simple building—clear sight lines, long corridors, large, sun-seeking windows—but it had the soul of a labyrinth. Its every element encouraged paranoia. The walls were blindingly white, the artwork was unmemorable, the rooms weren’t numbered, the people ducked their heads. It was as if the entire building was one continuous surface, expanding in all directions yet leading nowhere, an architectural koan. Rick’s tacky Nikes, a schlocky, ectoplasmic green, were the only object in her field of vision that had definite shape, but even they were becoming an indistinct blur as their escort—he hadn’t told them his name—led them deeper into the atrium of the complex.

After more turns and two card swipes, they eventually turned into an unremarkable room filled with overflowing binders stuffed onto dusty metal shelves. None of the binders were labeled, but nothing seemed out of place. The room had the clutter of a janitor’s closet and the organization of an evidence locker. Tilly and Rick watched silently as their escort sifted through the stacks and then removed five heavy binders, struggling to transfer them to a nearby desk. “No,” he barked when Rick attempted to help him with the load. “You can only access these documents through me, and that includes touching them.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean we’ll be holding hands,” Rick joked. The escort didn’t laugh.

“Why all the secrecy?” Tilly asked.

Both the escort and Rick glared at her. Because it’s the NSA, dummy, she answered flatly in her head.

“Because most Americans don’t like the idea of their government keeping files on teenagers,” the escort said. “But most Americans don’t know what some teenagers are up to, so managing that disconnect is up to us. And I mean us, not the CIA, or the DoD, or the press, or the FBI. No offense.”

Tilly sighed as quietly as she could. “So, now that we’re in this room,” Rick said, “‘we’ as in my partner and I, and you, no offense, what can you tell us? And why the fuck do you still keep paper files?”

“We keep paper files because Russia doesn’t tend to hack into doors. And I can tell you about five possible perps who we have been following in the Atlanta region who might have committed the attack you’re investigating.” Stiffly, he began opening the binders and spreading their contents over the desk. A sea of photographs and printed computer screenshots quickly drifted across the desk. Tilly wasn’t sure where to begin.