The file name was a prayer.
It wasn't just an episode. It was an alibi.
The screen exploded into razor-sharp clarity. 1080p. Every bead of sweat on "Ghost's" face was a constellation of guilt. The x265 codec had squeezed a season of betrayal into a sleek, brutal package. He wasn't watching the show; he was watching a manual.
On screen, his father’s ghost whispered, "You gotta move like water, son."
Tariq paused it. He looked at the textbook open beside him— Criminal Justice 101 —and then at the burner phone vibrating silently. A new text from Monet: "Where’s my product?"