1. Cayenne
“The thing about penetration testing?” I purr to my center monitor, fingers dancing across three different keyboards. “It’s all about knowing when to be gentle... and when to push harder.”
Bass thrums through my veins, barely drowning out the news broadcast droning from my left screen. Something about increased beta hospitalizations in the financial district. Again. The other two monitors bathe my apartment in electric blue, reflecting off floor-to-ceiling windows where Puritan City sprawls below like a neon-lit playground. From the forty-second floor of the Omega Guardian building, even the city’s shadows look prettier.
My unicorn-print pajama pants definitely clash with the whole professional investigator aesthetic, but comfort beats style when you’re cross-referencing trafficking data at 2 AM. Besides, who’s going to judge me?
The potted plant I keep forgetting to water?
“Another beta hospitalization reported in the Sterling Heights area,” the newscaster drones. “Sterling Labs representatives assure the public their new health initiative will?—”
I tune it out, focusing on my actual job—verifying that every trafficking operation we shut down stays shut down. It’s methodical work, following digital breadcrumbs backward through time, making sure no new patterns emerge.
Except... I’m not doing my job at all.
I frown at my center screen, fingers pausing over the keys. Something about these beta illness reports nags at the back of my mind, an itch I can’t quite scratch.
So when in doubt, hack it out.
“Playing hard to get?” I murmur as another encrypted file crumbles under my attack. My heart races with that familiar high—better than coffee, better than chocolate, better than that time I reprogrammed Times Square to play Mario Kart. “Baby, you should know that only makes me want you more.”
My music cuts out mid-beat, replaced by an incoming call. Aria’s face flashes on my phone screen, her grin as familiar as my own reflection after twenty years of friendship. I tap accept with my pinky, not breaking rhythm on my main keyboard. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping like a normal person?”
“Quinn says your signature just pinged his monitoring system.” Her voice carries equal parts amusement and concern. “He’s watching you bounce around Sterling Labs’ secure servers.”
“Would you believe routine trafficking investigation follow-up?”
“At this hour?”
“These beta hospitalizations line up perfectly with our old case files. Tell me that’s coincidence.”
I hear shuffling on her end, then Quinn’s voice joins the call. “Your routine trafficking investigation just triggered three different security protocols I designed. Either you’re getting sloppy, or you want to be caught.”
“Or,” I counter, fingers still flying across the keys, my body humming with the thrill of the chase, “your protocols need work. I can think of at least four ways around that last tripwire.”
I chew the inside of my cheek and then... There.
“Listed them all in a text,” I add, smirking as my phone buzzes with the sent message. “Consider it a love note.”
“New?” Quinn cuts in, but I hear him typing. “Seriously though, Sterling Labs? Their security is?—”
“Suspiciously militant for a medical research company?” I finish, the first hint of real tension creeping into my voice. “Tell me why a pharmaceutical company needs black site-level encryption on their beta health records.”
“Cay...” Aria’s voice holds that note I’ve known since we were seven and I was convincing her to help me break into the principal’s office. The one that says she knows I’m about to do something either brilliant or catastrophically stupid. Usually both. “What did you find?”
I hesitate for a heartbeat, the code streaming across my screen suddenly feeling heavier. The playful mood evaporates like morning dew under a harsh sun. “Remember those trafficking rings we shut down last month? I was double-checking everything was still quiet, but I found something else. Beta hospitalizations in every district where we made arrests. Sterling Labs showing up at each scene with their mobile treatment units.”
“That’s just good PR, though, right?” Quinn’s typing gets louder. “Give me five minutes, I’ll run the data?—”
“Already in their systems,” I say, unable to keep the pride out of my voice. “And before either of you start lecturing me about risks, you might want to see what I just found in their research manifesto and medical files. These aren’t random illnesses. They’re following our exact raid pattern. Almost like someone knew where to release—” I stop, the implications hitting me like a punch to the gut.
“The fact that you used the word manifestos is exactly why we worry,” Aria sighs. “Remember the DocuCorp incident?”
“Hey, that fire was barely noticeable.”
“It was on the news!”
“Barely noticeable on the news.”
Quinn snorts. “The headline was Tech Terror Sets Records Ablaze. ”
“Which was totally dramatic. It was one server room, and those records were covering up illegal omega trafficking.” My voice hardens at the memory. Six months of our lives dismantling what we thought was the biggest trafficking ring in Puritan City. We’d been so proud, so sure we’d cut the head off the snake. But lately... “This feels the same, Aria. The patterns, the missing pieces—it’s like déjà vu, only worse.”
Silence falls on the other end of the line. Twenty years of friendship means Aria knows exactly where my mind is going. Why this matters so much. Why I can’t let it go. Not after what we discovered last time. Not after what we missed that nearly cost her, her life.
“Send me what you find?” she finally asks, which is not the protest I expected.
“You’re not going to tell me to back off?”
“Would you listen?”
“No.”
“Then we might as well help.” Papers shuffle in the background. “Quinn’s already tracking your signal, I’m pulling up Guard reports from tonight, and you’re going to be careful. Deal?”
“Define careful.”
“Don’t die,” Quinn offers helpfully.
“Such high standards you set,” I mutter, but I’m grinning as I dive deeper into Sterling’s systems. This is why I love them. Why they’re family. No judgment, just backup when I need it most.
The first sign something’s wrong is a power fluctuation. Just a microsecond of dimming lights, barely enough to notice if you weren’t looking for it. But I’ve been in this game long enough to recognize a power surge from extra systems coming online.
I feel my skin prickle, that same instinct that told me we hadn’t caught all the traffickers last time. That somewhere in the shadows, someone was still pulling strings.
Looks like I was right. Again.
“Uh, guys?” Quinn’s voice sharpens. “You’ve got incoming. Private security team just cleared the thirtieth floor. Not Guardian uniforms.”
“That’s impossible. This is the Omega Guardian building. I designed their security.”
“Not Guardian security. Black tactical gear, military formation. Moving fast. And... something’s weird about the traffic cams across the street. Getting some glitches from the Westin building.”
Well, shit. “How many?”
“Four in the building. And there’s a black sedan that just parked in the shadows across the street. No plates.”
I’m already pulling up my own security feeds, watching dark figures move with practiced precision through the building. Could be nothing. Could be coincidence.
I don’t believe in coincidences.
My heartbeat drums against my eardrums, each pulse sending electricity through my fingertips as they blur across the keys. Sweat beads at my hairline, tiny droplets of concentration I can’t afford to wipe away. The final firewall materializes on my screen—intricate patterns of code weaving together like digital lace, so beautiful I almost hate to destroy it. Under different circumstances, I’d have traced each line with reverent fingers, maybe even left a little note for its creator. Instead, I unleash chaos—brute force wrapped in elegant code that tears through security protocols like tissue paper, leaving destruction in its wake that feels almost obscene in its violation.
And then I’m in.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, my chest tightening as the data unfurls before me. Medical records, research data, facility locations—all linking back to our old trafficking cases. And everywhere, that name. Sterling . My name. The coincidence feels like a noose tightening around my throat.
A red dot appears on my central monitor the same instant my hack completes. From the Westin building. Forty-second floor.
They’ve got a clean line of sight.
“Cay?” Aria’s voice seems far away. “Cay, what did you find?”
My throat closes around the truth. Some secrets aren’t meant to be spoken out loud. Some names shouldn’t be said in the dark or in the light.
“Would you be mad if I told you I’m about to do something really stupid?”
“What—”
The window explodes.
I dive sideways as glass shatters inward, my screens going dark one by one. More shots crack through the night, precise and professional. Not meant to kill—meant to destroy my equipment, my proof that Sterling Labs isn’t just watching beta health decline.
They’re causing it.
“CAY!” Aria’s voice cuts through the chaos from my fallen phone. “Quinn’s calling Puritan Security, just stay down?—”
But I’m already moving. Because while they’re trying to destroy my systems, I spot something better: the glint of a scope from the building opposite. Forty-second floor, third window from the left.
Got you.
The thrill of the hunt sings in my blood, replacing fear with something darker, something wilder. This is what they don’t understand about betas—we’re not bound by alpha instincts or omega intuition. We’re free to be whatever the fuck we want.
And right now? I want to be dangerous.
I’m on my feet and running before the last monitor dies. Glass is everywhere and I’m careful not to step on it. Puritan City Alphas will take the elevator, sweep the building properly, follow protocol. But I’ve got a faster route. And like hell am I letting them get away with this.
Time to show them why redheads have a reputation for being crazy.
I snag my backup drive from under the desk and my favorite accessory from the hidden panel behind my gaming posters—a custom Glock 19, bedazzled in rose pink crystals with Byte Me spelled out along the slide in rhinestones. Listen, if I’m going to break laws and risk my life, I’m going to look fabulous doing it. Even if I’m still in unicorn pajamas.
Eh, still fabulous.
“Quinn,” I snap into my earpiece as I run for the emergency stairwell, adrenaline making everything sharper, brighter, “I need a route to the Westin. Preferably one that doesn’t end with me as a street pancake.”
“You’re insane,” he replies, but I hear typing. “The safety protocols you helped design specifically prevent building-to-building access?—”
“Yeah, about that...” I slam through the stairwell door, the metal reverberating with a sound like thunder. “I may have left myself a few shortcuts. Remember that maintenance scaffolding they’ve been using to repair the east facade?”
“Cay, no.”
“Cay, yes.” I smirk to myself as I run, my bare feet silent on the concrete stairs. Because of course I forgot shoes. At least the unicorn pajamas have pockets.
“That scaffolding is forty-two floors up!”
“And conveniently extends halfway across the gap.” I take the stairs three at a time, heading up instead of down. The concrete echoes with each step, a drumbeat countdown to something either brilliant or fatal. Possibly both. “I just need to know if they’ve locked down the roof access yet.”
More typing. “You have maybe two minutes before the response team reaches your floor. The roof is... holy shit, did you seriously program my security protocols to play Pokémon music when overridden?”
“Gotta catch ‘em all, baby.”
Aria’s voice cuts in, tight with worry but not stopping me. She never stops me. It’s why we’ve been best friends since childhood. Since before I understood what it meant to be beta, to live between worlds. “Puritan Security are mobilizing. Three minutes out. Whatever you’re going to do?—”
“Already doing it.”
I burst onto the roof, the night air hitting my face like a shot of pure adrenaline. The city spreads out below, a glittering maze of lights and shadows. The Westin building looms across the gap, close enough to mock me. My would-be assassin is probably already packing up, thinking they’re safe, thinking I’ll be trapped by conventional responses and protocols.
They clearly haven’t read my file.
The wind whips my hair into a frenzy, catching my unicorn pajamas like a battle flag. Something wild stirs in my chest—not alpha aggression or omega instinct, but pure beta chaos. The kind that makes us perfect for walking the line between order and anarchy.
“When this is over,” Quinn mutters in my ear, “we’re having a long talk about backdoors in security systems.”
“Less lecturing, more telling me if anyone’s watching this side of the building.”
A pause. “Clear for the next forty seconds. But Cay? The wind speed at your altitude?—”
I’m already running. The scaffolding extends like a half-finished bridge, a skeleton of metal and promises. Below, Puritan City holds its breath, unaware that somewhere in its shadows, betas are being murdered. That someone in power is pulling strings.
Not for long. Not on my watch.
“You know what the best part of being a beta is?” I ask, my bare feet hitting the first metal bar with a resonant clang.
“Your questionable survival instincts?” Aria suggests.
“Our sense of style.” I flash my bedazzled gun at the city below, rhinestones catching starlight. “And our complete disregard for what should be impossible.”
I launch myself onto the scaffolding proper, cold metal biting into my bare feet. The whole structure sways with my momentum, and I bite back a curse. Note to self—next time I decide to play rooftop parkour, maybe grab shoes first.
The gap between buildings yawns beneath me, a forty-two-story reminder that some decisions can’t be unmade. Kind of like that time I decided to dye my hair purple in sixth grade, except with more immediate consequences.
Wind whips my red hair into a frenzy as I sprint across metal bars that definitely weren’t designed for barefoot chase sequences. The scaffolding sways with each step, and I’m pretty sure that creaking sound isn’t listed in any safety manual. Every step sends shocks of cold through my feet, metal ridges pressing patterns into my skin that I’ll probably feel for days. If I survive that long.
“Fun fact,” I pant, trying not to think about the drop beneath my feet, “this seemed way more badass in my head.”
“Everything seems more badass in your head,” Aria responds. “It’s why you thought releasing a virus that made all the school computers play Never Gonna Give You Up was a good idea.”
“That was artistic expression!” I leap over a gap in the planking, my heart doing a fancy gymnastics routine. My bare toes curl around the next beam, seeking purchase. “Also, I maintain that Rick-rolling the entire sophomore class was peak comedy.”
Another step. Another sway. The Westin building is getting closer, but not nearly fast enough. The metal is so cold it burns, each footfall a shock of pain that keeps me focused, present, alive.
“Twenty seconds until the next security sweep,” Quinn warns. “Also, I feel like this is a good time to mention that this scaffolding was rated for two workers max.”
“Good thing I skipped lunch then—shit!”
A metal bar snaps under my foot, tumbling into the abyss. I throw myself forward, catching the next support beam with one hand while my bedazzled Glock nearly slips from my waistband. For a moment, I’m dangling forty-two floors above Puritan City, feeling every sharp edge of metal against my bare skin, watching the broken bar disappear into the darkness.
“This feels like a metaphor for my life choices,” I mutter, hauling myself up, my feet scrambling for purchase on the cold steel.
“CAYENNE!” Aria’s voice could shatter glass. “What happened?”
“Nothing! Just... appreciating the architectural integrity of our fair city.” I scramble back to my feet, moving faster now, ignoring how the rough metal scrapes against my soles. “Hey, remember when we were kids, and you said I had no sense of self-preservation?”
“I say that at least once a week.”
“You might have been onto something.”
The wind picks up, making the whole structure dance. My unicorn pajamas flutter like a surrender flag, but surrender isn’t in my vocabulary. Not when I’m this close. Below, I hear the first sirens. Above, a shadow moves in the Westin’s window—my shooter, probably realizing their quiet elimination job just got a lot more complicated.
“By the way,” I add, nearly at the other building now, my feet numb from cold and adrenaline, “if I die, I want it noted that I looked fantastic doing it. The unicorn jammies alone?—”
“Not helping!” Aria and Quinn shout in unison.
I reach the end of the scaffolding, leaving me with a six-foot gap to the Westin’s maintenance ledge. Physics says I shouldn’t attempt this jump. Common sense says I should wait for backup. Every survival instinct says retreat.
But the thing about being a redheaded beta with authority issues?
Sometimes you just have to tell physics to fuck off.
“Quinn,” I say, backing up a few steps on the swaying metal, my bare feet finding their grip despite the cold, “I need a fast way in once I reach the forty-second floor.”
“If you reach—wait, are you seriously?—”
My cackle echoes all around me, wild and free and maybe a little unhinged.
“Fire door on the east side,” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “Security card readers on the same network as their cameras. I can kill it for three seconds.”
“This is why you’re my favorite techie.”
“I’m telling the other techies you said that.”
I take a deep breath, tighten my grip on my sparkly gun, and eye the gap. The concrete ledge beyond looks about as welcoming as my last blind date—cold, hard, and potentially lethal. “Hey Aria?”
“Yeah?”
“If this goes wrong, delete my browser history.”
Then I run. Three steps, heart pounding, wind howling, city spinning below. At the edge of the scaffolding, I push off with everything I have, launching myself into empty air. My unicorn pajamas flutter like wings that definitely aren’t going to do shit to help me fly.
For one endless moment, I’m flying. Or falling. Sometimes the difference is just a matter of perspective.
Time stretches like taffy as I sail through the air, my whole life flashing before my eyes. Mostly it’s just a highlight reel of terrible decisions, starting with that time I convinced Aria we should reprogram the city’s traffic lights to play Tetris.
I hit the maintenance ledge hard, rolling to absorb the impact and definitely not squealing like a startled kitten. Rough concrete scrapes my bare feet and palms, but I barely feel it through the adrenaline. My bedazzled gun catches the city lights, throwing tiny pink sparkles across the concrete like I’m starring in my own action movie.
“I’m in position,” I whisper, which sounds way more professional than holy shit I survived .
“You’re insane,” Quinn corrects. “East fire door in three... two...”
The card reader blinks from red to green. I slip inside, immediately pressing against the wall as my eyes adjust to the dim emergency lighting. The forty-second floor is mostly empty offices, perfect for a sniper’s nest. Or for a game of heavily armed hide and seek.
My bare feet make no sound on the polished floor—small blessings. Though the chill seeping up through my soles makes me miss my fluffy unicorn slippers something fierce.
“So,” I murmur, checking corners as I move, “want to place bets on whether my shooter is corporate muscle or private contractor?”
“Cay,” Aria’s voice is dead serious, “Puritan Security response team is ninety seconds out.”
“Plenty of time.”
“That wasn’t a challenge!”
I grin, sliding along the wall. “Everything’s a challenge if you’re brave enough.” Or stupid enough. The line gets pretty blurry sometimes.
Movement ahead—a shadow passing through moonlight. I duck behind a cubicle wall, my pink gun ready. The shadow moves again, more purposeful this time. They’re good. Professional. Probably expecting Puritan security or Omega Guardian response.
They’re definitely not expecting five-foot-six of pissed-off beta with a bedazzled Glock and impulse control issues.
“Found you,” I whisper, mostly to myself. Then louder: “Nice shot back there. Points for style, but you really should have led with the kill shot. Rookie mistake.”
A pause, then a deep voice, “My job was to destroy the evidence. No casualties.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. Inefficient, but sweet.” I move silent as a shadow, using the voice to triangulate position. The floor is freezing against my feet, but at least it makes stealth easier. “Here’s the thing though—you missed a drive. So now I’ve got backup copies of everything, plus attempted murder on top of the data. I’m thinking Pulitzer.”
A bullet embeds itself in the cubicle beside my head. Rude.
“That was your second mistake,” I say, rolling to new cover. My unicorn pajamas catch on something—probably karma getting back at me for all my life choices. “Your first was assuming I’d run down instead of up.”
“And your mistake,” the voice is closer now, “was assuming I came alone.”
Oh . Oh shit.
Movement behind me—a whisper of sound, a shift in the air. I dive forward just as a second shooter appears, their bullet cutting through the space where my head was. I come up firing, my bedazzled gun throwing fabulous pink reflections everywhere as I put two rounds into their knee.
The scream gives away both positions. I sprint for the stairwell, bullets chasing my heels. My bare feet slap against the floor, each step a reminder that I really need to rethink my emergency preparedness plan. Maybe add proper footwear to the list, right after stop antagonizing professional killers.
“Quinn! Need an exit that isn’t currently occupied by professional killers!”
“Window-washing rig, north side!” His fingers fly across keys. “I can lower it to the thirtieth floor but?—”
“Perfect!”
“CAY NO.”
“CAY YES.”
I burst through a set of doors into an open office space, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the glittering city beyond. The window-washing rig hangs like a promise, just waiting for someone crazy enough to use it as an escape route.
The universe really does provide.
“Aria?” I ask, shooting out the window locks. “Remember when we were ten and you said I’d either end up winning a Nobel Prize or jumping off a building?”
“...Please tell me you’re about to win a Nobel.”
I kick out the glass, tiny shards sticking to my bare feet. Pain shoots up my legs, but adrenaline’s a hell of a painkiller. “Well, you were half right.”
The first shooter appears in the doorway just as I leap onto the window-washing platform. Their bullet grazes my arm as I slam the control panel, sending the rig into a rapid descent. Wind whips my hair into a red tornado, my sparkly gun still throwing disco ball patterns across the city’s face.
“Quinn? Now would be a great time for Puritan Security response team.”
“North entrance, fifteen seconds.”
“And how long until this rig hits the thirtieth floor?”
“...Twenty seconds.”
I look up at the two shadows now leaning out the broken window, then down at the approaching floor. My feet are bleeding, my arm’s on fire, and my favorite unicorn pajamas are probably ruined. “Anyone ever tell you your timing sucks?”
“Only you, every day.” He pauses. “Cay? Next time you decide to hack a secret lab?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe don’t do it in our building.”
I laugh, wild and free, as bullets rain down like deadly confetti. “Where’s the fun in that?”
The window-washing rig hits the thirtieth floor with all the grace of a drunk giraffe. My bleeding feet remind me that kicking out windows barefoot wasn’t my brightest idea, but hey—at least the unicorn on my right pajama leg is still smiling.
Holding my breath, I shoot out these windows too. I roll off just as more bullets ping the metal frame, tucking into a controlled tumble that’s only slightly ruined by my breathless cursing.
“Puritan Security entering north side,” Quinn updates. “Five alphas, three betas. Full tactical.”
I check my sparkly gun—two rounds left. Because apparently, I can remember to bedazzle my weapon but not to grab extra ammo. Typical.
“You know what would be really great right now?” I pant, pressing against the wall, trying to ignore how my feet sting. “If someone had access to the building’s lighting systems.”
“Already on it,” Quinn says, and suddenly the entire floor plunges into darkness. God, I love having a tech genius friend. “But Cay? The assassins are using thermal.”
“Good thing I came prepared.”
“You? Prepared? That’s new.”
I pull a small device from my pajama pocket—a prototype thermal scrambler I’ve been tinkering with. Because sometimes paranoia pays off. “Remember last month when I said I needed to borrow the Omega Guardian’s environmental testing lab for a personal project?”
“You said it was for a dating app!”
“I may have stretched the truth.” I activate the scrambler, watching tiny LEDs blink to life. The metal is warm against my palm, humming with potential chaos. “In my defense, it technically could help with dating. You know, if you’re dating someone who might try to kill you.”
“Your therapy bills must be astronomical,” Aria mutters.
Footsteps approach from both directions—the assassins from above, the Security team from below. I’m trapped in the middle, armed with a bedazzled gun running on empty and prototype tech that’s only been tested on houseplants.
So, you know, just another Tuesday.
I press the scrambler against the wall and hit the activation sequence. The entire floor fills with scattered heat signatures, like someone copied and pasted me a hundred times. The assassins’ thermal imaging is now about as useful as a chocolate teapot.
“You realize,” Quinn says as I limp-sprint toward the east stairwell, leaving tiny bloody footprints behind, “that you’re also blocking the security team’s thermals?”
“Oops?”
“Don’t oops me. You planned this.”
“I would never!” A bullet chunks into the wall beside me. “Okay, maybe a little.”
I burst into the stairwell just as the security team reaches the twenty-ninth floor. Above me, the assassins are closing in. Below me, heavily armed alphas are about to discover that their favorite tech guru is maybe not as innocent as she appears.
Time for the grand finale.
I lean over the railing, aiming my sparkly gun at the sprinkler system pipe. “Hey Quinn? Remember how you said the building’s fire suppression systems were too sensitive?”
“Cayenne. Don’t you dare?—”
I fire my last rounds. Water explodes from the pipes in a Biblical flood, instantly turning the stairwell into the world’s most aggressive water park. Shouts of surprise echo from below as the security team discovers that tactical gear is significantly less tactical when soaking wet.
“Fire alarm in three... two...” I count down, and right on cue, the building’s evacuation protocol kicks in. Every door automatically unlocks, emergency lights start strobing, and chaos erupts as the remaining overnight workers join the party.
I slide down the handrail through the artificial waterfall, passing the thoroughly drenched security team who are now dealing with panicked civilians, confused security, and two very wet, very angry assassins trying to blend into the crowd. At least the water’s washing away my bloody footprints. Silver linings.
“Exit through the loading dock,” Quinn sighs. “I’ve got a car waiting.”
“Aww, you do love me!”
“I’m preventing a hostage situation. Also, you owe me new servers.”
I hit the ground floor running, water squishing between my toes. My feet are on fire, my arm’s throbbing, and my unicorn pajamas are probably ruined forever. But I’ve got the data linking Sterling Labs to the beta illnesses, and more importantly, I’ve got?—
The loading dock door opens right on cue—thank you, Quinn—and I sprint straight into...
Aria. Standing next to a sleek black car, arms crossed, eyebrow raised in that way that makes hardened criminals confess their sins.
“So,” she says as I skid to a stop, dripping on the concrete. “Found something interesting did you?”
I grin, pulling the backup drive from my waterproof pajama pocket. “Oh honey, you have no idea. But maybe we should discuss it somewhere that isn’t currently experiencing an indoor monsoon?”
“Get in the car, you disaster.” But she’s fighting a smile. “Quinn’s erasing the security footage.”
“And the assassins?”
“Puritan Security will find two suspiciously well-trained civilians with weapons that definitely aren’t registered to any known security firm.” She slides into the driver’s seat. “Amazing what you can discover when you have access to their comms.”
I drop into the passenger seat, finally letting myself feel the adrenaline crash. Everything hurts, but the drive in my pocket is worth every cut and bruise. “This is why you’re my best friend.”
“Because I enable your terrible life choices?”
“Because you make my terrible life choices look professionally executed. Besides, you’re the one who first noticed the pattern in beta hospital admissions.”
We peel out of the parking garage just as more security vehicles arrive. Through the windshield, another Sterling Labs billboard looms overhead, their promise of “Beta Health Innovation” casting sickly green light across our faces. In the distance, sirens wail.
“You know,” Aria says as we merge into traffic, “normal people don’t spend their Tuesday nights starting gun fights in secure buildings.”
I pull out my phone, already composing a message to my contact at the Federal Observer. “Normal is boring. Besides...” I hold up the drive, grinning as streetlights catch the rhinestones on my gun. “I think we just found something bigger than a Nobel Prize.”
“Does this mean I should cancel my plans for the rest of the week?”
“Oh definitely.” I send the email, then lean back, watching my city blur past, another Sterling Labs billboard looming overhead. Something in these files is going to change everything. Including what I thought I knew about my own name. I can feel it in my bones. Or maybe that’s just glass shards.
“Cay?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time? Maybe lead with hey, want to help me expose a criminal enterprise instead of making me think you’re dead.”
I laugh, wild and free and just a little bit crazy. “Where’s the fun in that?”