It had been another restless night for Monika Weiss. Her mind wouldn’t shut off—schematics, training data, half-finished ideas spinning too loud to sleep. So she went where she always did when silence failed her: the gym. At 04:12, it was blessedly empty. Just the steady rhythm of her fists against the heavy bag, gloves thudding like a metronome for her thoughts.

Sweat clung to her temples. Her breath was sharp, timed. Each strike calculated.

Then—movement. The faint squeak of the door. Footsteps.

She froze mid-combo, eyes narrowing toward the sound. Annoyance flickered across her face as she reset her stance.

"Seriously? Who the hell trains at this hour?" she muttered under her breath.