Chapter 14
Maggie sat at her desk, running diagnostics.
The work was familiar and grounding. System performance checks, data flow analysis, and routine queries that her fingers could execute without conscious thought.
The screens in front of her populated with numbers and graphs that told stories she'd learned to read years ago. However, earlier, as she’d dug through the internal programs she’d designed, the evidence had mounted.
Systematically processing each program consumed her days as the Guardian contact covered her tracks.
Attributing the access to an off the platform individual was now possible, but she hadn’t had time to track who it was.
She was also sure that whoever was accessing her programs was taking information that was grievous and could cause immense problems or even wars.
The scope was larger than she’d believed possible.
The amount of targeted data, and what was targeted, was catastrophic in nature.
But she wasn’t doing a deep dive now. Right now, she was doing the work she was paid to do.
Everything looked normal. Everything was normal.
The Guardian contact wasn't online. He’d told her to continue her work as normal and to hit Control plus the tab if she thought she was in trouble.
Follow her normal duties. Blend in. Be exactly who she'd always been before Reece had arrived, before Guardian, before she’d understood what Darkwater really was.
Man, that was so much easier said than done.
She didn't like the silence. The absence of that occasional message in the secure DM window the Guardian had established felt like working without a net. But she accepted it.
Normal was safety.
Normal kept her invisible.
A new message appeared on her screen.
Internal channel. Security routing. Proper formatting with the correct headers and authentication protocols. No red flags in the metadata.
Report to maintenance bay, west end of platform. Immediate.
That was it. No explanation. No ticket number. No context.
Maggie froze, her fingers stilling on the keyboard.
Security didn't summon her this way. Ever.
When maintenance needed systems support, requests came through the standard ticketing system with specific details about the issue. When security needed her, they called or sent someone in person. This was neither.
She checked the credentials embedded in the message. Ran them through verification protocols. Everything authenticated correctly. That made it worse.
Her pulse kicked up. She glanced at the corner of the tablet where Guardian's DM window appeared. But it was still missing and still silent.
He'd told her not to deviate from routine unless absolutely necessary. But ignoring a direct security summons would be noticed. Flagged. Questioned.
She had to go. She acted like she was closing down her computer, but she hit control and tab before standing. Her legs were steadier than she felt. She grabbed her tablet. It was a shield. A reason. If anyone asked, she was responding to a maintenance request. Simple. Professional. Expected.
She straightened her shoulders and told herself this was probably nothing.
* * *
The platform changed as she descended.
Fewer people in the corridors. More steel was visible beneath the cosmetic paneling that made the upper levels feel less industrial. The hum of machinery grew louder, deeper, a constant vibration that traveled through the floor and into her bones.
Maggie passed cameras she'd helped design. Doors she'd authorized. Badge readers that logged her every movement. Security checkpoints verified her clearance without question. No one stopped her. No one questioned her.
The elevator descended past operations into the maintenance levels where the platform's mechanical heart beat steady and relentless.
The doors opened onto a corridor she rarely visited. Industrial lighting cast harsh shadows. She followed the signs toward the west maintenance section, her footsteps echoing on metal grating.
The environment shifted with each corridor. Fewer lights. More shadows. The sounds of machinery grew louder, competing with the distant roar of wind and water.
She slowed without meaning to. The west section was almost deserted.
Emergency lighting only, dim red strips along the floor creating pools of visibility separated by stretches of darkness.
The walls here were exposed steel, riveted and reinforced, sweating condensation despite the dehumidifiers working overtime.
Wind pushed through open grates and vents, carrying the sharp bite of salt spray.
Maggie forced herself to keep moving. Then she saw it.
A single light on in a small office near the far end of the bay.
Everything else was dark. That light felt intentional.
Like a beacon showing her where in this darkness she was supposed to go.
She stopped at the threshold of the maintenance bay, her tablet clutched against her chest.
"Hello?" Her voice echoed against steel and concrete, swallowed by the wind howling through the vents. "Security sent me. Is anyone here?"
Silence.
Just the wind and the machinery and the distant crash of waves against the platform's supports.
She tried again, louder. "Hello?"
Nothing.
Her pulse spiked, and she forced herself to breathe evenly, pulling air deep into her lungs.
This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. But she was here now. And leaving without checking would raise questions she couldn't afford to answer. Being afraid of the dark wasn’t a reason not to do her job.
Maggie moved into the maintenance bay, checking methodically.
Doors. Corners. Equipment alcoves. She kept her movements deliberate.
She wouldn’t panic. Maybe. Or maybe she would.
This was not right. Her fear sharpened her awareness until every sound felt amplified.
The scrape of her shoes on the grating and the wheeze of air through ventilation ducts sounded as loud as the groan of steel under stress.
She glanced at her tablet, but there was no Wi-Fi here.
Damn it. An all-over body shiver racked her. She needed to turn around and go.
She’d already reached the far end of the bay where the platform opened to the elements.
A chain barrier stretched between steel posts, heavy links creating a hard stop before the exposed edge.
Beyond it, dark water stretched to the horizon.
Wind whipped through the gap, relentless and cold.
The lone office light was just beyond her peripheral vision, still burning in the room.
A gust of wind roared through the bay. It was loud and howled eerily. It snatched her hair free from its tie, whipped it across her face, and stung her eyes. For a moment, it was all she could hear. Yep, time to go. Go now. She spun around just as she heard the sound of boots.
Hands slammed into her shoulder and pushed her with a hard, deliberate shove.
Maggie stumbled sideways, the chains biting into her hips as momentum carried her over. Her tablet flew from her grip, clattering onto the iron grating below with a sharp, final crack.
She grasped at the chain barrier but couldn’t hold on. She dropped.
Air ripped from her lungs. Panic flared white-hot and blinding. Her hands scrabbled desperately, fingers finding purchase on a jagged piece of iron support beam jutting from the platform's understructure.
The metal bit into her palms. Her fingers burned. Her shoulders screamed.
She dangled over the metal grates below. She kicked her legs frantically, searching for any hint of purchase but finding nothing but air.
The wind tore at her, trying to pry her loose. Her grip slipped, caught, and she held on, energized by sheer terror and adrenaline.
Someone had pushed her. She couldn't see them. Couldn't hear anything over the wind. She didn’t know if they were still there, watching, waiting to finish what they'd started.
Her breath came in sharp gasps. Her vision narrowed to the metal cutting into her palms, the strain in her arms, the terrible empty space beneath her feet.
Her body heated in pure survival panic. Then her mind kicked back in. Analytical. Problem-solving even through terror. She couldn't hold on much longer. Seconds, maybe. Her fingers were already going numb.
But there. Four feet to her left. Lattice work iron, part of the support structure. If she could swing her body and build momentum, she might be able to reach it. She struggled with her grip to get a better purchase and pull herself up.
Four feet. It might as well be four miles. “Come on, Maggie. You can do this.” She forced herself to breathe. To think. To calculate. She began to swing, using what little core strength she had left, trying to build momentum despite the wind fighting her every movement.
Her fingers screamed. Her grip slipped another fraction of an inch.
She swung harder.
The lattice work stayed just out of reach.
Three feet now.
Two and a half.
Her left hand lost its grip entirely.
She shrieked, all her weight suddenly on her right hand, fingers burning as they took the full strain.
One more swing.
One more. Please, God, don’t let it end this way.
The lattice work was so close.
Her right hand slipped.