Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
It’s not possible. It can’t be.
And yet…
Every time he corrected me, every time his voice dipped just a little too low, it reminded me of—
I close my eyes and picture Gage.
His smug coffee-stealing grin. His voice when he says my name like it’s a dare. The way he looms at my desk just to drive me insane. The way he looked yesterday when he handed me that stupid half-cup of coffee like it was a peace treaty.
God.
It couldn’t be him. Could it?
I pull my hoodie tighter and try not to think about how I felt safer in the hands of a masked stranger than I have in weeks.
Or that, deep down, I wanted to be touched by him again.
I wanted more than lessons.
I wanted to feel like I belonged to something—someone—again.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough to forget what it feels like to always look over my shoulder.
My phone buzzes. A message.
MASK: Keep practicing the stance. We go again tomorrow.
I don’t reply.
But I do smile.
Because for the first time in days, I’m not just surviving.
I’m fighting.
TEN
GAGE
I haven’t stopped pacing.
Knight calls it my “burn-a-hole-in-the-floor” routine. Arrow calls it “pent-up alpha nerd syndrome.”
Whatever. I call it panic.
Because last night? Teaching River how to fight? That was a terrible idea.
And also the best one I’ve ever had.
But I know she knows. Or at least… suspects. The way she looked at me—the pause. That sharp glint in her eye, like her brain was running facial recognition against her internal Gage Dawson hate file.
I used the modulator. I double-checked the settings. The pitch was down, the distortion up. I even ran my lines through the filter beforehand. It should’ve worked.
But when she whispered, “Have we met before?”
I almost slipped.
Almost dropped the act and almost told her my name.
And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
This isn’t just about some anonymous dev getting harassed anymore. Not for me. This is River. And I’m in deep.
Arrow whistles low from across the room. “You gonna stare a hole through the wall, or you wanna see what Render found?”
I move toward the array of monitors, where Knight’s booted up the NovaPlay dev log server in our living room. “What am I looking at?”
Render’s voice crackles over comms from his studio apartment across town: “Digital fingerprints.”
He brings up a split-screen showing access logs—one side with admin clearance, the other with security metadata.
“What you’re seeing,” Render explains, “is someone using a ghost key—it’s a clone credential. It mimics admin access but doesn’t leave an identity flag unless you know where to look.”
“Jesus,” Knight mutters. “They’re logging into NovaSecure? That’s internal security, not even the execs touch that.”
“They’re scraping camera logs,” I say as it clicks. “Office floor, elevators… parking garage.”
Arrow stiffens. “That’s how they got the photo of her apartment window.”
My hands curl into fists before I realize it.
Render’s cursor circles a string of code. “Here’s where it gets interesting. They routed it through an onion mask—but not perfectly. One ping leaked through a soft port.”
“Meaning?” I ask.
“Meaning,” Render says, smug, “I traced the timestamp to a single developer machine.”
Three names appear on the screen.
I lean in.
And the bottom one makes my stomach churn.
Regent.
“Fucking hell,” I growl. “Nobody knows who that is.”
Arrow crosses his arm. “We need to find him.”
Knight nods. “Agreed, but how? It could be anyone who has access to the NovaPlay systems.”
“I want him to pay,” I say, voice low.
Arrow nods. “Then let’s bait the bastard.”
Knight cracks his knuckles. “Render, you up for building a honeypot?”
“Oh baby,” Render grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”
While they hash out trap logistics, I stare at my tablet, watching River at Riverside. The way she moves through the space like she owns it. I watch her practice the moves I taught her yesterday.
I watch.
I just need her to know she’s not alone.
But damn, it’s getting harder to stay in the shadows. I want to show up. I want to knock on her door, pull off the mask, and say I’ve got you.
But the timing’s not right.
Not when the bad guy’s still out there. Not when someone knows how to exploit every system we’ve got.
My phone buzzes.
RIVER: I’m practicing.
I watch the screen for a moment.
And type:
ME: I know.
Across the room, Arrow says, “You watching her again?”
“I can’t stop,” I say automatically. “I need to know she’s okay.”
Knight chuckles. “Damn, bro. You’ve got it bad.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, eyes still on the screen. “And I don’t even care.”
ELEVEN
RIVER
There’s a blinking red light in the corner of the safe house kitchen.
Small. Almost invisible.
But once I notice it, I can’t stop noticing it.
I lift my eyes slowly, scanning the room. The shelves. The nondescript lamp. The ceiling corner near the fridge.
How many of these little things are watching me?
And why… why don’t I hate it?
I should. I should be furious that some masked man installed cameras and is now watching me like I’m his own personal surveillance experiment. It’s weird. Invasive. Creepy, even.