Chapter Fifteen #2
“I’m called Ghost for a reason, Thorn. Did you really think you could run from me?” Sterling hauls me up, helping me off the ground, only to toss me over his shoulder. He lands a sharp smack on my ass and starts back to the house. “It’s almost like you enjoy the consequences.”
“What can I say? I was made to be a masochist,” I laugh, the sound bubbling out of me before I can stop it. Sterling carries me through the front door and drops me onto the couch. “I’ve got to go get my bags out of the car,” I say, starting to push myself up.
“Sit. I’ll get them. Cam, come help with Lila’s,” he orders over his shoulder as he heads back out the door. Cam mumbles under his breath as he follows Sterling out the door.
Lila scoots closer and drops her head onto my shoulder. “This is going to be weird.”
“Probably. But do you want to argue with the caveman?” I ask, trying to make light of it.
Lila laughs softly. “No, not really. Guess we’re bunking in the guest room?”
“You mean you don’t want a replay with Cam?”
Lila smacks me in the arm. “It was a late-night, heated argument. That’s all.”
Laughing, I nudge her with my shoulder. “Yeah, it was heated, alright.” Heavy footsteps stomp up the steps, and the front door bangs against the wall as they shove it open.
“Lila, you’re retaking the guest room. Kiera, you’re with me. Cam, you can sleep wherever.” Cam flips him off and hauls Lila’s bags toward her room.
Crossing my arms over my chest, “What if I wanted to stay with Lila?”
“It’s okay. I hate sleeping with you anyway. You flop around too much,” Lila tosses over her shoulder as she walks off.
“Okay, then. Lead the way, caveman.” Sterling rolls his eyes and carries my bags toward his room. He sets them down and starts clearing out a few drawers. “I can live out of the suitcase. It’s okay,” I say, hovering awkwardly in the doorway.
“And let your million bags clutter the room? No thanks.” He jerks his chin toward the drawers, clearly expecting me to move.
I huff but start unpacking while he digs through the tote bag, pulling out my blanket and Kindle.
The second he sees the cover of what I’m currently reading, he barks out a laugh. “So, this is what you’re into.”
“They’re interesting. Sometimes even resourceful,” I say as I finish unpacking the suitcase.
Once everything’s finally in place, I clap my hands together.
“Okay, let's go get this plan started. “ Sterling gives a single nod and leads the way. Cam’s already there at the table, laptop open, coffee sitting untouched and going cold.
The overhead light hums softly, way too bright for what we’re about to do.
I drop into one of the chairs, Sterling staying behind my shoulder, close enough that I feel his heat even with him not touching me.
Cam cracks his knuckles. “Okay. We set the trail here. We lace small hints of Asher’s signature through, just enough that it could seem like Wade missed it the first time. ”
I slide my laptop in front of me and flip it open. “He won’t question it. He needs someone else to blame. Someone else to take responsibility for his actions.”
Sterling’s voice is calm, a steady light guiding us through a storm. “So, let’s make it personal.”
Cam nods. “Already planning on it.”
The next hour disappears into clicks and keystrokes.
The kitchen shrinks down to the table, the glow of the screens, and the quiet intensity hanging between us.
Sterling leans in every so often, murmuring something low in my ear—not instructions, just presence, like he’s anchoring me in place.
At some point, Lila shuffles in, hair wild, hoodie half on, rubbing her eyes.
“You guys look like serial killers,” she mutters.
Cam doesn’t look up. “We feel like them, too.”
She smirks at Sterling and me. “Try not to start foreplay over malware.”
“Out,” I whisper, and she laughs as she disappears down the hall.
Cam exhales and sits back. “Okay. We’re close. One more piece—the bait Wade can’t ignore.”
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “A demanded confession. Make it feel desperate.”
Cam grins. “Already ahead of you.”
Sterling’s thumb traces the edge of my chair, slow and deliberate. “He won’t be able to help himself.”
Cam’s fingers still, the air in the room shifting. My pulse hammers behind my teeth. “What?”
Cam stares at his screen; all the color has drained from his face. “I didn’t do that,” he says slowly, looking up at me.
My stomach twists. “Did what?” Cam drags the laptop closer, angling the screen toward us. A file sits in the directory—no download history, no incoming packet log. Just there.
CICADA_ACTIVE.log
The kitchen goes cold. Sterling leans in, his breath warm against my hair. “That wasn’t there before.”
Cam shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “It wasn’t there five seconds ago.” The kitchen clock ticks low behind him. I don’t remember hearing that before.
“Open it,” I say, even though every instinct in me is screaming not to.
Cam hesitates, then clicks on it. The screen snaps to black, a single line of white text burning in the center. The hairs rise on the back of my neck as a wave of wrongness rolls through me.
Hello, Kiera.
The kitchen goes silent. The hum of the fridge fades, like the house itself is holding its breath, listening and waiting. My pulse slams in my ears. “How the fuck…”
“I can’t trace it,” Cam says, voice tight. “No entry point. No backdoor. It’s like it was placed directly inside the system—from the inside.” More text begins to appear, one line at a time, slow and deliberate, like the system is thinking between each word.
You’ve been brave.
You’ve been loud.
You’ve been careless.
My hands curl into fists on the table, the wood biting into my knuckles. “This isn’t Wade,” Cam whispers, more to himself than to us.
“No,” Sterling says quietly. “It’s not.” Another line loads.
You’re not the only one
who remembers Angel.
Something cold slides down my spine—not a memory, not exactly, more like a pressure. Like a door I don’t remember opening is suddenly ajar. Sterling’s hand settles on my shoulder, grounding. “Breathe.” Before I can respond, the laptop screen flickers again, and a final line appears.
Some places leave marks,
even when you forget them.
My stomach twists. I snap the laptop shut, hard enough that the sound echoes in the kitchen. My phone vibrates on the table. Once. Twice. Again.
Unknown number: Broken things can be made in the basement.
My breath catches. I don’t remember anything, but my body reacts anyway, a deep, instinctive fear I can’t explain.
Sterling’s voice cuts through the haze. “Kiera. Look at me.” I drag my gaze up to him.
His expression is all sharp focus now—protective, dangerous.
“We’re not doing what they want,” he says. “Understand?”
“They know me,” I whisper. Not how. Just that they do.
“Yes,” Sterling replies. “And now we know they’re close.”
Cam leans back in his chair, his face still pale. “Someone’s been inside everything.”
Sterling’s grip tightens once. “Then we stop playing defense.”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I look at Cam, at the way his fingers still hover near the keys like he’s itching to fix it. “We were focused on ruining my dad,” I say at last. “That’s on pause.”
Cam’s brows knit together. “Ki…”
“Not stopping,” I cut in. “Just… redirecting.” I glance back at the dark screen. “Whoever did this got in because they knew the rules we were playing by.”
Cam exhales slowly. “So, we change the rules.”
A pulse of something sharp and electric moves through me. “No....” I pause. “We erase them.”
Cam’s mouth curves into a slow, dangerous smile. “Okay. Then we build something new.” Sterling watches us, quiet now, measuring. “Something they can’t crawl into,” Cam adds. “No back doors. No exits.”
“And no mercy,” I finish. “If they touch our systems again, we’ll know. Immediately.”
Cam shakes his head in confirmation. “And they won’t be able to leave without us knowing either.”
The air between us hums, thick with intent. Sterling’s hand settles warm and steady on my shoulder. “Do it.”
Looking over at Cam, I let a malicious smile tug at my mouth. “Let’s make it mean.”
Sterling’s mouth curves into something cold and precise. “Now we ruin whoever thinks they get to decide what you remember.” The kitchen light hums overhead, bright and ordinary, while something old and patient finishes stepping out of the dark.