“What?”
“When she dies, I don’t want a huge funeral. I know you feel obligated to make a show of mourning, but I don’t want strangers filling this house for days.”
David smiled.
“Whatever you want.”
She looked at me one final time.
“Goodbye, sweetheart.”
The door closed.
Their footsteps faded down the corridor.
I remained motionless.
Then I slowly shifted my eyes toward the small screen mounted beside my bed.
My eye-tracking computer had been installed several weeks earlier because I could no longer reliably use my hands.
It allowed me to communicate by focusing on letters and selecting them through deliberate eye movements.
David knew about the device.
He believed I was too weak to operate it.
He had never bothered to learn how it worked.
I concentrated on the security menu.
The screen responded.
One letter at a time, I entered the encrypted command.
PROTOCOL BLACK.
A confirmation window appeared.
