Chapter Sixteen #2
Her brow furrows deeper, like she’s trapped in a nightmare and losing the fight.
I resist the urge to shake her awake. Instead, I drag my thumb slowly down—gentle, deliberate—keeping her close to me.
Her breathing steadies again. Relief crashes through me, far too violent for something this small. Why the fuck do I care so much?
I shift, careful not to wake her, and my gaze locks on the faint scar just below her collarbone.
I noticed it before. Clean. Old. My stomach twists.
“How many times,” I murmur under my breath, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
She exhales, lips parting on a soft, unconscious sound.
Not fear. Not pain. Trust. That single sound guts me deeper than any blade ever could.
Because trust is dangerous. Trust is shattered in basements and locked rooms, in long nights where no one answers your screams.
I sit up slowly, easing her hand free only after she relaxes again.
She shifts, murmuring something soft and incoherent, then settles back into my side like she belongs there.
I don’t leave the bed. I stay there, elbows braced on my knees, staring at the floor like it owes me answers.
Like it might crack open and confess if I wait long enough.
The dream keeps pressing at the back of my skull: concrete floor, freezing air, a girl with eyes far too old for her face.
Cold. I told myself it was only a memory.
Trauma reshuffling itself. My mind fills in blanks with ghosts.
But my chest knows better. It always fucking does.
The timeline doesn’t line up. The details don’t either.
And yet…the way she watches doors. The way she catalogs exits without ever looking directly.
The way she goes still when voices rise.
The way she doesn’t remember parts of her childhood yet still knows how to survive without them.
My jaw tightens until it aches. No. I refuse to connect dots that aren’t proven.
That path leads to fucking madness. I glance back at her, eyes tracing the slow rise and fall of her back.
I don’t know what she’s hiding from herself.
But I know this much with terrifying certainty: whatever is circling us now… already knows.
I lie back down beside her, careful and controlled, sliding an arm around her waist. Protective.
Instinctive. Unthinking. Sleep doesn’t return.
Neither does the suspicion leave. Whatever brushed the edge of my thoughts last night—whatever didn’t sit felt wrong, off, dangerous—I lock it down tight and force it away.
Speculation doesn’t help. Not yet. If there’s something buried there, I’ll dig it up when the time is right. When I’m ready to face what I find.
By the time I leave the bedroom, the house reeks of stale coffee and burned ozone.
Cam sits at the kitchen table, laptop open, eyes bloodshot and raw.
The sunlight cuts through the windows like an accusation.
“We start now,” I say. He nods once. No questions.
No bullshit. Kiera drops into the chair across from him a few minutes later, hair twisted up messily, hoodie wallowing her like armor.
She looks like she hasn’t slept either. She opens her laptop without sparing either of us a glance.
We don’t talk about last night. We just work.
The first pieces go in methodically. Not loud.
Not reckless. We lay structure instead of noise.
New rules. New pathways. A program that doesn’t just react but remembers.
Anything that touches it leaves a mark. Asher’s signature is threaded through the framework like a blade hidden in silk: clean enough to look natural, sharp enough to cut anyone who follows it.
Lila wanders in sometime around lunch, squinting at the microwave clock like it personally offended her.
“Why does it feel like we fought the sun and lost?” She pours coffee, her needed lifeline.
“Also, it’s noon. Who the fuck let that happen?
” No one answers. Her gaze slides over the screens, taking in the code, data streams, and the quiet we’re building.
“Cool. Cyber warfare before sandwiches.” She takes a long sip, mouth twisting.
“Love this arc for us.” By the time food shows up and sits mostly untouched, the trail is already there.
It’s not finished, but it’s there. And once Wade finds it, he won’t be able to stop pulling.
I lean back in my chair, exhaustion finally sinking into my bones as the last lines of code lock into place.
We’ve barely slept, but the trap is set.