“A rescue,” Viktor replied, leaning closer. “The company that owns this software? They don’t care about students, or artists, or the dying dog you just spent your last peso on. They care about quarterly reports. They locked you out, Martín, not because you’re a thief, but because you’re poor.”
Viktor’s video feed dissolved into static, but before it vanished, Martín saw the man smile—a real smile, not the sad one—and give a slow, deliberate salute.
“So you’re giving me a free key?” Martín asked, his voice trembling.
“A miracle,” he whispered, his finger hovering over the mouse. “Or a trap.”