Owen’s Apartment, Massachusetts – 11:47 PM The apartment was quiet; too quiet. Most of the furniture was already gone. Just a mattress on the floor, a rickety desk, a lamp that buzzed faintly, and a lone digital clock glowing red in the dark. Owen Anderson sat shirtless on the edge of his mattress, laptop on his knees, eyes scanning the SkyNovaTech mission archive. His desk was scattered with printouts, diagrams, old resumes, a worn suit neatly ironed and hanging on the back of a chair. A single cup of black coffee steamed beside it. Even after yesterday’s rejection, he still