244 Exclusive: 10.16. 100.

"Run it through the standard filters," she told her junior, Leo. He tapped away, frowning. "No source. No reflection pattern. It’s like the signal started inside the mainframe itself."

"100," she whispered. "244."

The dots weren't decimal points. They were separators. Like coordinates. Or a countdown. 10.16. 100. 244

"Coordinates," she said. "And I think we just turned the lock." "Run it through the standard filters," she told

She looked at the numbers one last time. They weren't a message anymore. They were a key. "Run it through the standard filters

"Leo," she said quietly, "start the evacuation protocol."

She opened a starchart. 100 hours of arc. 244 degrees. A line of sight pointing not outward, but back toward Earth. Toward the buried salt flat beneath them. Toward something that had been asleep for millennia—until 10:16 PM.