Spy Tugs
Spy Tugs Pic(s)
The late afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the plush, silent office, a space usually humming with professional energy. Anya moved with a quiet purpose, her fingers tracing the edge of the mahogany desk as she surveyed the room. She carefully adjusted the large, leather-bound portfolio, aligning it perfectly with a stack of confidential files. Her true objective, however, was the small, unassuming USB drive concealed within her palm. With a final, cautious glance toward the closed door, she knelt beside the computer tower, her heart thrumming a rapid rhythm against her ribs. The faint click of the drive slotting home seemed deafening in the profound stillness. A small window flashed on the monitor, its progress bar beginning its slow, deliberate crawl. Each percentage point felt like an eternity, a stolen moment stretched thin with the risk of discovery. She could almost feel the weight of the data transferring, a digital ghost slipping from its secure confines. A floorboard creaked in the distant hallway, freezing her in place with a sudden, cold dread. The plan, so meticulously crafted, now hinged on these final, agonizing seconds before a swift and silent retreat.
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