Chapter 1
Evan's POV
"You are wasting twenty minutes of my life over an algorithm that already exists," Marcus said, leaning against the cold concrete wall of the garage with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
I did not look up from the terminal because the command line was compiling the last training set, and if the loss function spiked now, the entire weekend's compute cycle was ruined.
"It does not exist," I said, my fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard with a sharp clacking sound that bounced off the uninsulated drywall. "Every existing model relies on historical averages, Marcus, which means they are just expensive rearview mirrors, whereas what I built actually looks forward."
Marcus pushed off the wall and walked over to the old wooden workbench where my laptop sat plugged into a rat's nest of extension cords.
"You are talking about predicting human choices, Evan," he said, staring down at the scrolling green text with a scowl that deepened the lines between his eyebrows. "People are not stock tickers or weather patterns, and they do not follow clean mathematical rules just because you want them to."
I finally stopped typing, turned around in my swivel chair, and looked straight at him.
"Watch me," I said.
I reached out and typed a single command, pulling up the real-time public transit logs, credit card transaction feeds, and local traffic camera feeds that I had scraped through an open API earlier that morning.
"Look at the coffee shop across the street," I said, nodding toward the dusty front window. "In three minutes, a woman in a red coat is going to walk in, she is going to trip on the third step because the concrete is cracked, and she is going to drop her phone."
Marcus let out a short, dry laugh and shook his head.
"You hacked the security cameras," he accused, stepping back. "Or you set this up with someone outside."
"Look at the timestamp on the data stream," I replied, my voice flat and completely devoid of humor. "I did not set up anything, because the system is just reading the velocity of her stride, the exact timing of the crosswalk signal down the block, and the historical probability of commuters buying a latte at eight-fifteen on a Tuesday."
We stood in silence for a long minute, listening to the hum of the server tower sitting under the desk blowing hot air against my shins.
Through the glass, a woman wearing a bright red wool coat turned the corner, walked briskly toward the steps of the cafe, caught the toe of her boot on the broken edge of the concrete, and fumbled her phone before catching it against her chest.
Marcus stared at the street, then slowly turned his head to look back at the glowing green code on my screen.
"How far ahead can it see?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.
"As far as you have the hardware to compute," I said, turning back to the keyboard. "Are we building this thing or am I calling someone else?"
