You quickly enter a series of calibration commands, boosting the scanner's facial recognition algorithms. The machine emits a high-pitched whine as it focuses its processing power on that unstable periphery. The woman's features shudder like a television signal fighting interference before snapping into sudden clarity.

She's younger than you expected - no more than twenty-five - with sharp cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes lined with smudged black kohl. A streak of neon pink cuts through her otherwise jet-black bob. The memory stabilizes just as she turns her head, revealing a small mole beneath her left earlobe and the faint glint of a datajack implant behind it.

The scene continues uninterrupted now. The woman abandons her drink on the balcony railing and slips back inside, moving with the purposeful grace of someone trained to avoid attention. As she passes the ice sculpture, her hand brushes against it for the briefest moment - long enough for you to notice the tiny scanner embedded in her fingernail. The ice glows briefly where she touched it.

Back in the present, Tanaka lets out a strangled gasp. 'Her...' he whispers, eyes darting beneath closed lids. 'The whistleblower from R&D...' The memory stutters again as conflicting neural pathways fight for dominance. The banquet hall dissolves into static before reforming as a dimly lit apartment. The woman stands at a holographic display, the stolen data from the ice sculpture projected around her like a constellation of incriminating evidence.