Chapter 85: Shadows of Deception
Bayo stepped into the Harvard Computing Laboratory, his fingers instinctively brushing over his cowrie necklace. The air felt different, charged with an unseen tension. The usual hum of the Harvard Mark I seemed more pronounced, its vibrations more intense. "Ọjọ́ tí ń bọ̀ kò dùn," [The coming day doesn't sound pleasant] Bayo murmured under his breath, the Yoruba proverb a quiet acknowledgment of the unease settling in his stomach.
The room was filled with familiar faces, yet their expressions were unfamiliar. Dr. Harold's usual condescending smirk was replaced by something colder, more calculating.