“I’m sure we can arrange a proper interview at a restaurant next week,” she said, her voice tight. “When the lights are back on.”

“No need,” Marcus said, looking at me. “The raw environment is much better.”

He stepped closer to the hallway, his boots clicking on the floor.

Suddenly, the red light on our main server rack in the corner began to blink.

A high-pitched whine rose from the backup batteries.

Derek took a step toward the basement door, his face pale.

“Sarah,” he said. “That’s the high-voltage warning.”

I bypassed my mother and ran to the server rack.

The small digital display read forty-eight volts over-limit on the incoming line from the rooftop array.

“The inverter didn’t trip,” I said, my fingers flying over the physical bypass switches on the side of the metal casing.

“Is this dangerous?” Marcus asked, stepping closer to watch rather than backing away.

My mother grabbed my arm, her manicured nails digging through the sleeve of my cardigan.

“Sarah, let the maintenance staff handle that,” she whispered, her smile tight and plastic for the reporter’s benefit.