Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
The driver, Carlo, is playing lo-fi hip-hop at headache volume. Juno and I slide into the back seat; her knee bumps mine, sending static along my skin. I keep Hoover’s mask tucked high, hoodie hood pulled low. Carlo glances in the rearview and takes in Juno’s face and my mask and decides we’re either cosplayers or burglars. He doesn’t ask, and I silently thank him for that.
Juno eyes the houses rolling past. “Arrow once said this neighborhood had the fastest fiber in the city,” she mutters.
“He would know, huh?” I ask, heart trotting double-time.
“Arrow knows everything,” she says quietly, staring out the window. The streetlights strobe across her profile. Guilt punches me. Here I am lying to her face while she praises me.
Carlo slows at a grimy one-story house, halfway through a roof replacement that looks abandoned mid-hammer. ELIJAH123 in real-life form. We thank him, slap five-star promises, and step onto the sidewalk.
Juno tugs her jacket tight. “Okay. We just look from here, right?”
“Correct.” I scan. Two cars in the cracked driveway, fading bumper stickers for a local high school marching band. Curtains half-drawn, TV glow inside. Wind rattles a chain-link gate.
Then the front door opens. Out waddles who I'm assuming is Elijah—hunched, lanky, wearing Pikachu pajama pants, dragging a trash bin. Kid can’t be older than eighteen. His earbuds blast tinny rap.
Juno’s shoulders sag. “He’s a baby.”
“Cyber fanboys start young.”
She steps forward anyway, determination hardening her posture. “He might know something.”
I exhale, tug my hoodie higher, and follow. When Elijah sees us approaching, he freezes, earbuds dangling. Recognition flashes across his acne-speckled face.
“Holy crap—Juno Kate?” Voice cracks. “I watch your livestream breakdowns! Uh—watched, I guess.” His expression crumples, apology shimmering. “I’m…sorry about Arby.”
Juno forces a smile. “Thanks, Elijah. Can we talk?”
His gaze snaps to my mask. “Why’s Herbert Hoover here?”
“Economic turmoil’s making a comeback,” I deadpan through the modulator.
The kid snickers, and pushes his glasses up. “Okay, that’s kinda funny.”
We guide him to the porch steps. Porch light spills sickly yellow over peeling paint. Elijah hugs the trash lid like a shield.
Juno keeps her tone gentle. “Elijah, we found your username linked to some aggressive comments on Arby’s channel.”
His eyes widen. “Whoa—those skull emojis? That wasn’t hate. That was my gamer clan dropping support. Like, SkullSquad stands with Arby. It was a thing.”
Juno frowns. “You never met her?”
“I wish.” He pulls out his phone, shows a lock screen of Arby mid-laugh. “She was the realest influencer. When she dumped HOLO-BURST energy drink after they tried to rebrand her as ‘Gamer Barbie’. Iconic.”
A bolt of interest shoots through me. “She ended the sponsorship?”
“Oh, yeah.” Elijah nods vigorously. “They kept ghosting her invoices. Shady as hell. She posted about it on her close-friends Insta two days before she…you know.”
Juno and I exchange a glance. I can almost see the suspicion form behind her eyes.
Elijah continues, words tumbling. “I did some digging. HOLO-BURST’s shell company is run by a venture-capital guy in Saint Pierce. Gracewood Holdings? Same dudes backing a crypto casino that got hacked last year. Total scammers.”
Kid’s better at OSINT than half the PD. I reach into my hoodie pocket, slip out a business-card-sized sheet of paper—blank except a protonmail address. I hand it over. “Anything else you find, send it here. Encrypted.”
He stares at the card like it’s a Hogwarts letter. “Yes, sir, Mr. Hoover, sir.”
Juno gently touches his arm. “Thanks, Elijah. And hey—maybe tone down the skull emojis for now?”
He blushes. “Right. Sorry.”
We retreat to the sidewalk as Elijah drags the trash bin back like a dutiful nonplayer character. Juno exhales a shaky breath, adrenaline fading.
“So, energy-drink money laundering,” she murmurs. “That’s new.”
“Could be a motive,” I say. “Corporate sabotage, hush money, influencer liability.”
She tugs her beanie. “Next step?”
“We go back. Run HOLO-BURST’s ownership tree.”
Juno glances at me—mask, hoodie, looming. “You sure you’re not Arrow under there?” Her laugh is half joke, half genuine wonder.
I manage a robotic chuckle. “This Arrow guy your boyfriend?”
“What?” Her eyes widen. “Uh, no no no no no. He’s definitely not.”
“Wow, five no’s. Must be a serious no.”
She laughs lightly. “Sorry, he’s my best friend, and no he’s not my boyfriend.”
The air sizzles between us, and I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the mask making me feel braver. “So, you’re single then?”
“Um, yeah,” she breathes out. “I guess I am.”
“Good.”
She gives me a mega-watt smile, and I wonder how it’s physically possible to be jealous of myself. “We need to get you a new mask, Hoover.” She pushes against me as we walk down the street.
“C’mon, Herbie here is underrated.” I hail a rideshare on my app.
She snorts as she starts walking. The night air is crisp, carrying distant sirens. With each step, guilt and protectiveness wrestle in my gut. We got useful intel—but I dragged her into a stranger’s yard. Rookie move.