64. Angélique
64
Angélique
I snort at Brice’s question. Do I know my father well enough to guess his password? I highly doubt that, but I have no other choice than to try. I can’t live with the idea of giving up on Léandre.
It’s already bad that I didn’t have the heart to kill Elhyor for him, so I can’t screw this up.
If I were an egocentric, power-hungry bastard, what would be my password?
I make him try a few things that come to my mind, even his own birthday—October twenty-seventh—when Luc tells us that the interweb search comes back saying the old passwords used to have numbers and letters, with at least a capital one. All come as a failure.
Brice tries the ‘forgot password’ button, but it asks for the initial email this account was set with, and even if I knew Micha?l’s email address, who still has one of those, when everyone uses instant messages, anyway? I wouldn’t know the password for that, either.
We try the date of his ascension to the role of Micha?l with anything—really, anything—that comes to my mind, but it’s not it.
Then we try the date I shifted for the first time.
“That was weird,” Brice answers on our latest try. “It almost looked like we had it right this time, but instead, I have a message that no one is going to like.”
”What is it?” Elhyor asks in a gruff voice.
I can see that he doesn’t like being here. He would much rather be with Brice, even if, from what I’ve seen so far, he would be as useless there as we are here.
“We only have one attempt left,” Brice answers, and even through com devices, I can hear that he’s holding his breath.
What will happen if we don’t get the password right? Will it trigger an alarm? Traps?
Oh, fuck. What if it triggered alarms when we didn’t guess the password on the first try?
No, I don’t think that is the case.
Guards would be there already. I know how my father operates, and he wouldn’t allow anyone to break into his facilities and not attack right away. He’d consider waiting a sign of weakness.
Weakness.
Something he hates.
Something he doesn’t have anymore, since I shifted for the first time.
And there is only one letter that can be turned into a special character in this word.
“Brice, I think I have it. But it would be good if you all get ready to burn everything and run in case I’m wrong.”
“Ready,” is the only answer he gives me.
“21122555-A-b-s-o-l-u-t-€-P-o-w-€-r.” I hold my breath as I hear Brice type on the keyboard. The click-click-click is the most annoying sound I have ever heard. Or maybe it’s just in this instant and my stress level is making me go neurotic.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it were the case.
Brice presses one last key, and then, absolute silence.
No alarm.
No scream.
Nothing.
I’m still holding my breath, and it’s like unless Brice tells me I can breathe again, my lungs won’t function.