*Proceed. -I.L.* Two words. Two initials. A full stop between them and a silence after that means the same thing it always means: stop reading, start moving. You type it without thinking, which is how you know Lena told you something true. The best intelligence does not feel like intelligence. It feels like memory. You send the email. Marc reads it at his standing desk with one hand wrapped around a cold espresso and the other already reaching for his mouse. He does not read the body. He does not look at the portal link. He reads the sign-off first, the way he always reads Isabella's emails, because the sign-off tells him whether this is a thing to do or a thing to think about, and he has learned over three years that *Proceed. -I.L.* is never the second kind. He clicks. You watch the staging server register the connection. The payload begins its handshake, silent and procedural and dressed in the right uniform. You close your laptop. You sit in the quiet of your room for a moment and feel something small and cold settle in your chest. Not guilt, exactly. The shape of guilt, the space where it would go if you let it. You do not let it. [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/Token Glimpse|Follow the compromised session]]