Tesla works through the night on his magnifying transmitter. Sparks fly; the air smells of ozone. He has pushed the equipment further than ever before. When the first flame appears in the corner of his eye, he does not run. He reaches for his notes — and freezes. The fire is not spreading randomly. It is tracing a pattern. The same pattern he has been sketching in his journal. Someone has been in his lab.

He grabs the journal and backs toward the door. The flames follow. Not toward him — toward the safe where he keeps the Wardenclyffe plans. He throws a bucket of sand. The fire hesitates. In that moment he sees it: a wire, hidden behind the panel. The fire was not an accident. And the person who set it is still in the building.

A room full of investors. Tesla stands beside his coil. He has one chance to prove that alternating current can power the future. He flips the switch. Light fills the room — no wires, no connection. The crowd gasps. One man does not. He is writing in a small notebook, and when he looks up, his eyes meet Tesla's. There is no wonder in that look. Only calculation.

After the applause, the man approaches. He introduces himself as working for a certain direct-current advocate. He says: we are prepared to offer you a great deal of money. To stop. Tesla smiles. He says: I have already been offered that. The man nods. Then I am not here to offer. I am here to warn you. He slides the notebook across the table. On the page is a sketch of Tesla's own lab — and a date. Tomorrow.

Tesla has not left his hotel room for days. He has been feeding the pigeons on the windowsill, watching one in particular — white with gray-tipped wings. She has become something more to him: a listener, a presence. Tonight she does not come. He waits until dawn. When he finally goes out to look for her, he finds her in an alley, one wing bent. He brings her back and tends to her. As he works, he talks. He tells her about the problem he cannot solve — the resonance that keeps escaping him.

In the middle of a sentence he stops. He is staring at her wing. The way it moves. The angle. He sets her down gently and reaches for his papers. The equation he has been missing is not in the math. It is in the wing. He works until she is asleep. When she wakes, he is still writing. He looks at her and says: you have given me more than you know. She will never understand. But we will.

A reporter has come to ask Tesla about the future. The camera is rolling. Tesla speaks of wireless power, of global communication, of energy so abundant it would be free. The reporter asks: and what about the weapons? Tesla's face darkens. He says: I have designed something that could end war. One machine. One demonstration. No army could stand against it. The reporter leans in. Have you built it? Tesla does not answer. He looks at the window. Someone is standing in the street below — a figure in a long coat, watching the building.

Tesla turns back. He says: forget I said that. The reporter laughs. Too late. The film is rolling. Tesla stands. He walks to the camera and removes the reel. He says: some ideas are too dangerous to record. He hands the reporter a roll of cash. Buy yourself a new story. When the reporter leaves, Tesla looks out the window again. The figure is gone. But on the sill is a single feather — white, with gray tips.

Edison has asked for a meeting. Tesla expects a threat or a bribe. Instead, Edison offers a partnership. We have been enemies long enough, he says. Your AC. My distribution. Together we could light the world. Tesla is silent. He has dreamed of this — of his ideas reaching everyone. But he knows Edison. He has been burned before.

He asks: what do you want from me? Edison smiles. The same thing I have always wanted. To win. Only this time we win together. Tesla looks at the contract. The terms are generous. Too generous. He pushes it back. You have left something out. Edison's smile fades. Tesla says: you want my patents. Not to use them. To bury them. Edison does not deny it. He stands. Then we are still enemies. As he reaches the door, Tesla says: we have always been. The difference is that now I know it. Edison leaves. Tesla picks up the contract and holds it over the flame. He does not burn it. He files it away. One day, he thinks, the world will need to know what was offered.