Chapter 3
THREE
CREWE
Group chats are the worst.
Correction: my brothers in a group chat are the worst.
I call it Hawthorne Idiots + Crewe—because I’m the one who actually answers when Mom texts. The chat blows up before I’ve finished my first cup of coffee.
NASH: u alive?
ME: Barely. A drone tried to eat me.
MACK: please say u punched it. like, physically.
SIN: tell us when you fell in love with the robot
BANKS: wait… was it at least a hot robot?
JACE: speaking of hot robots—what’s the lab girl’s name again?
COLT: shut up. Crewe, report.
I lean against the wall outside the hangar, sip my second cup—burnt, bitter, barely coffee—and type.
ME: Downed trainer. Night exfil. Rogue drone tried to hit our bird mid-rescue. Brought it back. Code looked familiar.
NASH: familiar like YouTube or familiar like call Mom?
ME: Looked like Ridgeway tech. Riley Willow’s platform. But altered.
MACK: parasite? like Banks’ ex?
BANKS: wow. okay. accurate.
SIN: what’s Willow’s damage?
JACE: is she competent, terrifying, or make-you-forget-your-own-name pretty?
COLT: is she safe?
I glance back through the hangar window. Riley’s pacing in the lab in sneakers, ponytail swinging, energy vibrating just under her skin. She's short, sharp, fast. Always thinking. Always moving. She runs hot, and I can’t seem to stop watching.
ME: She’s good. Smart. Knows her code like I know a hoist cable. Someone used her credentials last night while she was off-base. We’re tracking it.
NASH: internal?
ME: Maybe. Or a contractor breach. We found a breadcrumb.
MACK: gimme a name and an address. muffins incoming.
BANKS: I volunteer to bring flowers
JACE: Riley, right?
ME: Willow. Yeah.
There’s a beat of silence. They can smell what I’m not saying. I didn’t give them much, but they already know.
NASH: pretty?
MACK: smart pretty or ruin-your-life pretty
SIN: both is lethal
BANKS: he’s being quiet. it’s both.
JACE: describe her like we’re blind and shallow
COLT: do not.
I don’t respond.
But I think it—
Pretty like the first warm day after a hard winter. Like the feeling of breath after being underwater too long. Her eyes are blue, but not soft. They cut and spark. And when she laughs, it knocks the wind out of me because I didn’t realize I missed that sound.
Instead, I text:
ME: focused. fast. hands steady under pressure.
NASH: yeah. just googled her. she’s definitely hot.
MACK: you’re done for
SIN: proud of you, brother
BANKS: get her number in case you die
COLT: shut up. protect her.
The bay door buzzes. One of the techs waves me in. Time to test Riley’s locked code build. I text one final line before walking inside.
ME: test range in 20. She's running the demo. I’ll keep her behind my shoulder.
COLT: good.
NASH: don’t let command eat her alive
MACK: punch anyone who raises their voice
SIN: kiss anyone who deserves it
BANKS: pics
JACE: be careful. we like this one.
ME: Roger.
The test range is quiet, snow blanketing the concrete in uneven patches. Wind slices in from the ridge like it’s looking for trouble.
Riley stands just ahead of me, eyes locked on her tablet, shoulders squared like she’s got something to prove—which she does. Not to me. To whoever tried to hijack her drone.
She walks me through the locked code again, double-checked, verified, squeaky clean.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask. “You’ve got nothing to prove.”
She lifts her chin, stubborn and fierce. “Oh, but I do. Someone twisted my work to hurt people. They don’t get to hide behind my name.”
The drone waits on the pad, ready to launch. Riley touches it the way some people touch family heirlooms—gentle but fierce, with this weird kind of affection. She talks to it like it understands.
And maybe it does.
“Locked build,” she calls. “Logging begins now.”
Major Chen nods. “Proceed.”
The drone lifts off. Steady. Beautiful. Everything works like it’s supposed to. I’ve seen a lot of tech—but watching her code do what it’s meant to do? It’s like watching a rescue happen before the first call is even made.
It hovers. Adjusts for wind. Glides like it owns the air.
Then… something’s off.
The first sign is small. A delay in response. A twitch at the edge of the turn.
Riley frowns, taps a quick check. Her diagnostics say it’s fine. But I don’t trust it.
“Riley,” I say, voice low.
“I know,” she says, already moving.
The drone tilts its nose and shoots toward the fuel truck like it’s found a target. Riley sends a kill command. The drone ignores it and speeds up.
“EMP ready?” I call.
My guy nods. “Charged.”
And then instinct takes over.
I grab Riley and pull her down, cover her with my body, one arm over her head. She’s tense but doesn’t fight me this time. My chest is pressed against her back. I breathe in the scent of her—coffee, solder, something soft underneath it all. My pulse steadies because that’s what I do.
I protect.
“Now,” I call.
The EMP pops like thunder. The drone twitches, folds, crashes into the snow just feet from the fuel truck.
Silence.
Then the laughter—nervous, relieved, real.
“You okay?” I ask softly, still not moving.
She nods under me, stiff with adrenaline. I help her up. My hands stay on her longer than they need to. She doesn’t seem to mind.
“Whoever did this,” she mutters, “owes me a new subroutine and a court-martial.”
“I want front-row seats,” I say.
Security moves fast. Chen’s barking orders. The drone gets bagged for evidence. Riley kneels beside it like she’s mourning a fallen soldier.
“It used one of my override commands,” she says quietly. “But not the way it was meant to. Someone rewrote it.”
“You get anything off the logs?”
“Maybe. I’ll try. Even scrambled, I’ll find the shadow.”
Her eyes meet mine. “Thank you. For saving me.”
I don’t say “always,” but it’s implied.
Back at the lab, Security's already waiting. Clipboards. Forms. Suspicion.
Chen grounds the program while they investigate.
Riley stiffens. “Fine. Ground it. But I’m not locked out. If I’m going to prove I didn’t do this, I need access.”
Chen looks at me. I nod.
She gives the go-ahead. “Hawthorne stays with her.”
Security doesn’t like it. I do.
We’re barely ten minutes into analyzing the drone data when Riley’s phone buzzes.
She barely glances at it—then freezes. Her entire expression changes.
“What?” I ask.
She doesn’t speak. Just flips the phone so I can see.
A photo. Us. On the range. Me covering her with my body.
CALL IT OFF OR WE MAKE IT WORSE.
Another message. Her code. Corrupted.
WEAR YOUR SEATBELT, RILEY. LOTS CAN SPILL.
I take the phone out of her hand. Gently. Her fingers graze mine, and it hits me all at once—how wrong this is. How someone dared to threaten her.
“They have my number,” she says quietly. “I hate that more than I hate cheddar cheese.”
Her voice shakes. But only a little.
I place the phone down carefully. “Here’s what happens next. The program’s grounded. But I’m not going anywhere. We find whoever did this, and I make sure they regret it.”
“You’re very… intense when you’re reassuring someone,” she says, eyes lingering on my mouth just long enough for my heart to take notice.
“I’m not trying to reassure you,” I say. “I’m giving you the plan.”
She exhales. “And if I said I hate plans?”
“I’d say you can hate them. Just do it behind me.”
She looks at the photo again. Her voice is small but steady. “Okay. Fine. I’ll stand there.”
I shift to place myself between her and the door. Her eyes follow. Her lips twitch like she wants to smile.
Outside, the wind howls against the hangar like it’s trying to get in.
Someone out there thinks they’ve scared her.
They haven’t met me.
I send a single line to the group chat:
ME: Sabotage confirmed. Program grounded. Threat to Riley. I’m staying close.
The thread lights up instantly.
NASH: On standby.
MACK: Gimme names.
SIN: Don’t let her out of your sight.
BANKS: Buy her soup. Pretty girls love soup.
JACE: Trust your gut.
COLT: Keep her safe. Bring her home.
I put the phone down and look at Riley.
“We’re going to find them,” I say.
She nods slowly. “And then?”
I step closer. Close enough to feel the heat of her. “Then I do what I’m good at,” I say.
Protect. Fight. Destroy the threat.
And maybe—if she lets me—hold on to something good for once.