We can't! Morgan replies, her voice tight with panic. The pathogen has locked the digital handshake! If we cut the physical cables, the digital feedback will fry the servers and the biological lattice simultaneously! We need to ground the pathogen manually!
I don't wait for her to finish. I sprint down the stairs from the observation deck, my boots slamming against the metal grating. Kade is right behind me, limping heavily on his cane.
We burst onto the nexus floor. The air is freezing. The silver and golden veins on the server racks are flashing erratically, the biological firewall failing against the sheer speed of the digital attack. Asher is on his knees, his hands pressed flat against the moss, his face pale, his golden veins flaring brightly as he tries to manually filter the path
