1:00 AM. Seven hours until the meeting that would determine PulseSync's fate. Steve paced the narrow confines of the gas station booth, dust-filled air growing thicker with each circuit. Outside, the storm intensified—visibility dropping from feet to inches.

  "There has to be electricity somewhere," he muttered, scanning the cramped space for the fifth time in as many minutes. "Every store has power. Refrigerators, lights, security systems."

  The booth was larger than it had appeared from outside—perhaps twenty feet by fifteen— with three short aisles of snacks and essentials, a drink cooler along the back wall, and a small counter with a register near the window. Despite its size, the space felt oppressive.

  Riley sat on a plastic stool behind the counter, watching Steve's frantic search with that unnervingly calm gaze. "The storm probably knocked out the power lines. That's why there's no cashier here. They probably closed up when it hit."

  "They left in a hurry then," Steve replied, pointing to the half-restocked cigarette display, the open drawer in the register. "Didn't even lock up properly."

  His eyes were on the ceiling, tracing wires, following conduits, hunting for circuit breakers or emergency generators—anything that might provide the juice he needed to revive his dead phone. No Nexus meant no access to his presentation materials, his talking points, his financial projections that SkyTech would need to see before signing off on the partnership.

  "Seven hours," he said, more to himself than Riley. "Seven hours to prepare for a meeting that determines whether sixteen people keep their jobs."

  Riley shifted on the stool, the plastic creaking in the silence. "Just be careful, technology can be dangerous.”

  Steve barely heard her, attention fixed on a junction box near the register. He scrambled behind the counter, tools from the utility box he'd found clutched in his hand. "This might work. If I can just reconnect these wires, maybe bypass the main circuit..."

  His fingers trembled as he unscrewed the panel, revealing a tangle of colored wires. Red, black, green, white—a maze of electrical pathways that suddenly seemed more complex than any coding challenge he'd ever faced.

  "You know electrical work?" Riley asked, moving aside to give him space.

  "How hard can it be? It's just wires connecting to other wires." Steve forced confidence into his voice, though electronics had never been his strength. Software, algorithms, business models—those were his domain. Not this physical, tangible mess of copper and plastic.

  He selected what looked like the main power lead and a promising connector, holding them together while reaching for electrical tape. A small spark jumped between the contacts, momentarily lighting the darkness.

  "That's something!" he exclaimed, hope surging. "See? Just need to connect the right circuits."

  Riley watched with that same unreadable expression. "You could start a fire."

  "I know what I'm doing," Steve lied, wrapping tape around the connection with shaking hands. His whole body vibrated with the urgency of his task, with the knowledge that every minute passing was another minute closer to the meeting that would make or break everything he'd built.

  The dust seemed to grow thicker as he worked, particles dancing in his flashlight beam, settling on his hands, his tools, his phone waiting on the counter. The storm outside howled, wind finding new cracks in the building's facade, driving grit through invisible openings until it felt like the booth was slowly filling with sand.

  "Almost there," Steve muttered, connecting another set of wires. "This should bypass the main breaker. Basic electronics, really."

  His confidence grew as he made more connections, taped more wires, built what he convinced himself was a workable solution. The outlet near the register would power up any second now. Had to.

  "Just one more connection and..." His fingers slipped, sending a shower of sparks across the panel. A sharp pain lanced through his hand as electricity found the path of least resistance—through him.

  "Shit!" He jerked back, dropping the screwdriver with a clatter. The brief surge faded immediately, leaving the booth as dark and powerless as before.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Are you okay?" Riley asked, moving closer, concern finally breaking through her calm facade.

  Steve stared at his trembling hands, at the small burn mark on his index finger, at the failed junction box that refused to yield the power he so desperately needed. The momentary hope collapsed, reality crashing back with crushing force.

  "Human assistants fumble wires," he muttered bitterly. "Nexus would have the solution instantly. Probably warn me about improper electrical work too."

  The admission of failure tasted like dust in his mouth. Steve Warrick, CEO of PulseSync, creator of TaskNet, defeated by a simple electrical panel in a gas station booth during the most critical night of his professional life.

  "Let me see your hand," Riley said, reaching for his injury.

  Steve pulled back, frustration boiling over. "It's fine. I don't need help with a little burn."

  She didn't push, just settled back on her stool, watching him with those unsettlingly deep eyes. "There are other options besides fixing the electricity."

  "Like what?" Steve demanded, pacing again, nervous energy finding no productive outlet. "My phone's dead. The booth has no power. The highway's closed. SkyTech meeting is in seven hours, and without my presentation materials, without Nexus to guide me through the financial projections, I'm screwed."

  The dust swirled around him as he moved, his footsteps disturbing the fine layer that had already settled on the linoleum floor. Each breath filled his lungs with grit, the taste of failure growing stronger with every inhalation.

  "You could use my phone," Riley suggested, her voice cutting through his spiral. "It's got plenty of battery."

  Steve froze mid-step, turning slowly to face her. "I am moron! You are right, I could just log into my accounts on your phone!"

  She nodded, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a sleek device in a simple black case. "The signal's spotty with the storm, but it might help."

  Hope resurged, washing through Steve's system like a drug. A working phone. Access. Maybe even a way to connect with Nexus if the signal cooperated.

  "Why didn't you mention this earlier?" he asked, already moving toward her, hand outstretched.

  Riley hesitated, pulling the phone slightly back. "I'm not sure it's a good idea. I've had... issues with it lately. Strange glitches."

  "Glitches I can handle," Steve said, fingers almost twitching with need. "I run a tech company, remember? Let me see it."

  She still didn't offer the device. "It's not normal glitches. Sometimes it does things I don't ask it to. Opens apps on its own. Sends messages I didn't write."

  Under normal circumstances, Steve might have found such claims concerning or at least interesting from a technical perspective. But normal had disappeared the moment his car died on the highway, leaving him stranded with his company's future hanging in the balance.

  "Riley," he said, forcing a calmness into his voice that he didn't feel, "I really need this. Just for a little while. To access my accounts, prepare for this meeting. Sixteen people depend on me making this deal happen."

  Her eyes studied his face, searching for something he couldn't name. The dust swirled between them, catching in the beam of his dying flashlight, particles dancing like digital static in the narrow space separating their bodies.

  "I'm not sure," she said again, her voice soft but firm. "I've had it... checked. The technician said nothing was wrong, but I know it's not right."

  Steve's composure cracked, frustration surging through the professional veneer he typically maintained. "What exactly are you worried about? That I'll see your personal photos? Read your texts? I don't care about any of that! I just need to save my company!"

  The outburst hung in the dusty air between them, Steve immediately regretting the tone but not the sentiment. Every minute spent debating was another minute closer to 8 AM, another minute unprepared for the pitch that would determine everything.

  Riley's expression didn't change, that unnerving calm persisting despite his outburst. "It's not that," she said quietly. "I'm trying to protect you."

  "Protect me? From what, a glitchy phone?" Steve barked out a laugh that contained no humor. "I've built my entire career on fixing technological problems. Whatever issues your phone has, I can handle them. What I can't handle is walking into the most important meeting of my life completely unprepared."

  She studied him for another long moment, the silence stretching between them, filled only with the howl of the wind and the relentless patter of dust against the windows. Finally, with obvious reluctance, she extended the phone toward him.

  "Just... be careful with it. And if anything strange happens, anything at all, tell me immediately."

  Steve snatched the device before she could change her mind, relief flooding his system as the screen illuminated at his touch. A working phone. A lifeline. Hope.

  "Thank you," he managed, already navigating to the browser. "I won't forget this."

  The screen glowed bright in the dusty darkness, casting Steve's features in sharp relief as he hunched over the device, fingers flying across the keyboard. Outside, the storm raged unabated, dust scratching against glass like countless tiny claws seeking entry.

  Riley's voice floated to him, soft but somehow penetrating the booth's ambient noise: "I hope you know what you're doing, Steve."

  He barely heard her, already lost in the digital world that had always made more sense to him than the physical one. Seven hours until the SkyTech meeting. Seven hours to salvage everything he'd built. Seven hours that would determine the fate of PulseSync, TaskNet, and Steve Warrick himself.

  The dust continued to seep in, gathering in corners, coating surfaces, working its way into the very air they breathed. Abrasive. Invasive. Inescapable. Much like the pressure mounting in Steve's chest as the night stretched endlessly before him, each minute bringing him closer to salvation or ruin.