Chapter 3What Came With the Stolen Code

November 16th, 8:00 AM.

The defense was held in the lecture hall on the third floor of the Science Hall.

I walked out of the dorms wearing my favorite grey hoodie, the one that had been washed at least a thousand times.

Wyatt insisted on tagging along.

"You're not even presenting."

"I'm the audience," he insisted. "You told me to bring popcorn, and I did. You can't lock me out now."

"There are actual seats in the lecture hall, Wyatt."

"It's the spirit of the popcorn that matters."

I didn't bother arguing with him.

As we entered the lobby, I spotted Garrett and Gina standing near the main bulletin board.

Garrett was wearing a crisp navy shirt today, his hair slicked back with enough gel to withstand a hurricane.

Gina was in full makeup, clutching a stack of printed materials to her chest.

They were whispering to each other, looking completely relaxed.

When Garrett caught sight of me, he paused for a fraction of a second. Then, a smug, oily smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that said, I ruined your life, and you don't even know it yet.

"Ryan," he said with a nod. "Big day. Ready for the defense?"

"I'll get by," I replied.

His eyes swept down to my faded hoodie and my mismatched slippers. Yes, I had shown up to a prestigious fellowship defense in slippers.

His smile widened, likely assuming I had given up on life because my data was deleted.

"Hang in there, bud," he said, patting my shoulder with just the right amount of patronizing warmth.

"Yeah, you too." I glanced at Gina. "Good luck, Gina."

Gina nodded, tightening her grip on her papers, but she refused to meet my gaze. Guilty people never look you in the eye. That rule hasn't changed since middle school.

Wyatt and I headed up to the third floor. A crowd had already gathered outside the lecture hall.

Fellowship defenses were public events. Anyone from the department could sit in. It always drew a massive crowd because, let's face it, there is no entertainment quite like watching academic careers crash and burn in real-time.

Wyatt slid into a seat in the back corner and pulled out his phone.

"I'm taking this spot. Perfect angle."

"What, are you livestreaming this?"

"Pretty much. I'll record your set."

"Don't."

"Come on, you might go viral."

I ignored him and found a seat in the middle row.

At 8:20 AM, the five-member committee walked in. Right in the center was Professor Harrison. He was in his late fifties, his horseshoe baldness having expanded over the years from a small bay into a full-on ocean. I had roasted his hair in line 472 of my old code, and seeing him in the flesh made my stomach do a slight flip. I really hoped Gina wouldn't scroll down to that specific line on the projector. Whatever, what happens, happens.

Professor Harrison scanned the room, his gaze lingering on me for half a second. He knew me. I had worked under him for an entire year on my undergraduate thesis. He knew my coding style the way a mother knows her child's handwriting. In other words, he could spot my work instantly.

At 8:30 AM, the moderator announced the presentation order.

Gina was third.

I was fifth.

She was going before me.

I took a slow, deep breath. Perfect. Time to let the drama unfold.