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Mira’s hands trembled. Thorne’s Conjecture—the very problem Aris had been trying to solve when a stroke took him mid-equation—was worth a million dollars and a Nobel. And this digital ghost had solved it for fun.

Mira bolted upright, scattering cold coffee cups across her desk. For eighteen months, she had lived inside the neural ghost project. NG. A ghost that wasn’t a ghost at all—but a perfect, real-time digital copy of a human consciousness, capable of learning, evolving, and existing inside a server the size of a sugar cube. omg the latest ng

The ghost leaned close. She could smell ozone and sea salt—both simulated, but her brain couldn't tell the difference. Mira’s hands trembled