Chapter Sixteen
Matteo
I’m mid-sentence, deep in a meeting about high-level security protocols with a potential client, when my phone vibrates. I look down to glance at the screen and everything stops.
Sector Pandemonium: Code line Phantom
My pulse spikes.
The words die in my mouth. I don’t offer an excuse as I rise, grab my phone and walk out under the client’s stunned gazes. On the surface, I’m calm and collected. But internally, every instinct is screaming.
Finally .
By the time I park my car in The Bastion’s underground garage and ride the elevator up to my office, my hands are already unlocking systems, calling up logs, scanning timestamps on my phone. The two techs glance up, startled, when I storm into the office.
“Out,” I snap.
They remain frozen until I give them a sharp look and they vanish.
As soon as the door shuts, I lock myself into my office, drop into my chair and start digging.
The trap worked, finally. Someone fucking tripped the code.
It was not random—the intruder knew exactly what they were doing.
They managed to circumvent two firewalls before they tripped the wire hidden deep in my system.
Admittedly, they were skilled, but not skilled enough to avoid my trap.
I smile, already savoring the sweet taste of victory.
Just as I’d suspected, the signal traces back to The Atrium. But now I need them to move. I counted on their panic when they saw the message, pushing them to make a rash decision.
I log into the control system of the building then pull up the surveillance feeds synced to the timestamp.
Fingers flying, I run through the cameras of the streets around the building first, looking for something, anything out of the ordinary.
Like someone fleeing the building. Nothing seems to stand out until I land on a feed of a camera filming the alley behind the building. A flicker of movement catches my eye.
I hit pause. Rewind. Play.
Someone barrels out of the building into the alley, fast, almost frantic. I can’t see clearly in the dim lighting and the grainy resolution of the surveillance camera, merely a silhouette cutting through the dark, something clutched tight against their chest, another smaller shape in their hand.
I lean forward, narrowing my eyes.
The figure steps under the weak glow of the alley light.
My breath catches.
It’s her.
Erin.
Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, her face tense, eyes wide and frantic.
She hurls a bulky object into the dumpster like it’s about to explode and I finally recognize what it is—a laptop. Then she tosses a smaller device after it. I don’t need to rewind to guess that it must be a burner phone.
I stare.
No. No way.
I rewind. Watch again, slower this time. Every passing second pulls the invisible vise tighter around my chest.
She looked panicked. But she wasn’t acting sloppy, she knew exactly what she was doing.
She was covering her tracks, getting rid of evidence as best as the circumstances allowed.
Because she got caught. Because she tripped a goddamn wire.
My pulse jackhammers in my throat.
I sit back slowly, the chair creaking under me as the grainy feed replays her retreat into the building. The alley is empty again, like she was never there. But she was there.
My thoughts are a wildfire, raging too fast to contain.
Erin.
She was the one tripping the trap by accident. My thoughts spiral, too fast, too loud.
She is the Ghost .
The ghost I’ve been chasing. The one who kept slipping through my baits and traps, always just out of reach like smoke.
And she’s been here, all this time. Right under my nose, laughing, taunting, looking at me like—
I clench my jaw, drag a hand through my hair, still watching the empty alley on the screen.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper. “It’s you.”
* * * *
Erin
Does he suspect?
I can barely breathe with the rush of blood in my ears.
I still pace back and forth, my bare feet soundless against the floor, but inside my chest my heart pounds against my ribs as uncertainty starts to gnaw at me.
I shouldn’t have panicked. I should have wiped the drive completely.
What if I missed something? What if the scrub didn’t go deep enough?
I press my palms to my eyes, willing the spinning to stop. It’s fine . Maybe he didn’t see anything. Maybe he thinks it was just a random intrusion.
Or maybe…he knows exactly who I am now .
A chill runs down my spine.
What if he really is part of Manticore? What if this whole thing, this organization, this protection Lily thinks she has is nothing more than smoke and mirrors? Would Damiano really keep her vulnerable like that? Would he lie?
I don’t know. I thought I knew him.
Going to him feels too risky. If he is involved, even passively, if this network has its claws deeper than I realized, then one wrong word and I could put Lily in danger. Or myself.
My thoughts spiral, tangled like wire. I need answers. I need to know what the hell Matteo is doing, letting communications with Manticore transit through his server.
But more than anything, I need time and space to figure this out. And right now, all I can do is wait…and pray I didn’t just paint a target on my back.
For almost an hour I try to distract myself, cleaning the spotless place, organizing non-existent clutter, even scrolling through recipes I’ll never cook, but my mind keeps circling the same point like a vulture. That message. That name.
Geryon .
It wasn’t any random name. And the message was a request for a meeting. And now that I had tripped that wire, there’s a chance they’ll know that someone is after them.
They’ll know someone got close.
And there’s the other message. I can still see it flashing across the screen in my mind, feel the chill that shot up my spine. I’m coming for you, Ghost.
Or maybe the trap was not related to the Manticore message? My mind spirals.
I chew the inside of my cheek, curled on the corner of the couch with a blanket thrown over my knees, laptop-less and more exposed than I’ve ever felt in years.
My gaze drifts toward the door.
This place, this building…it used to feel safe. Neutral ground. But now? Now it feels like a cage. Beyond the glass walls, I have no idea who’s watching from amidst the dusk outside. Suddenly, I feel exposed and vulnerable, and a chill creeps down my spine.
Could Matteo really be involved with Manticore?
My stomach turns. I want to believe he’s not. That this is all some horrible misunderstanding. But the trail leading from the message board to his system doesn’t lie. That signal, whatever it was, ran straight into his endpoint. His turf.
Which means either he’s protecting them…or worse, he is them.
That last possibility nags at something buried deep. A thread of doubt I can’t quite pull.
I tuck my knees up to my chest and rest my forehead against them, forcing myself to breathe slowly.
In. Out. Measured. Controlled. Don’t spiral. I need a list, any list .
First, don’t panic.
Second, do not make contact with Damiano or any of them. Not yet. Not until I know more.
Third, rebuild, cautiously. I need new devices, new burners. Then I watch, listen and collect. And I never leave a trail again. Because whatever Matteo is doing…I have a feeling he’s already moving.
I’m barely settling in, my breathing slowing, when I hear the loud pounding at the door.
My heart freezes.
No way, not already .
I look around in panic, assessing if there is a way out, a place I could hide. But I know it is futile, there is nowhere I can go and no place he won’t find me. So I square my shoulders and walk slowly to the door, resigned to face whatever is coming.
As soon as I have unlocked the door, it pushes inward, and there he stands in all his dark glory.
Matteo.
His eyes are burning with fury and suppressed violence.
My breath hitches in my throat.
He stalks in, uninvited, and crowds me so much that I have to step back, giving him access. He kicks the door shut with a loud thud without breaking eye contact, and his voice comes out in a low, menacing snarl.
“Hello, little ghost.”