Chapter Sixteen #3
I don’t wait long. Wade Hawthorne is the kind of man who smells silence like blood in the water.
Give him a single drop, and he’ll frenzy.
I step away from the table, phone already in hand, and slip out onto the back patio.
The sun hangs high and brutal, indifferent and ordinary, as if the world isn’t already rotting beneath its glare.
The phone rings twice before he answers.
“What do you have?” Wade snaps, voice clipped. No greeting. No patience.
“I have movement,” I say evenly, voice low and controlled.
“Not proof. Not yet. But a pattern.” Silence stretches thick across the line.
He’s listening now. Hungry for it. “I cross-referenced the attendees from both events,” I continue.
“Timing. Access points. Data residue. Whoever this is isn’t some outsider.
” My voice drops lower. “They know your systems. Your people. Your habits.”
His breath is tight. Controlled. Like a predator holding back a snarl. “You said you were close.”
“I am,” I reply, calm and steady. Any misstep can set off alarms for him. “But you need to understand something. This person isn’t trying to drain you.” My tone drops. “They’re trying to corner you.”
Silence echoes across the line. Then, quieter, almost a growl. “Explain.”
“They want you paranoid. Watching everyone. Second-guessing your inner circle.” I let the words hang, giving them time to sink their teeth in. “And there’s one name that keeps surfacing.” I keep my tone flat. “Not loudly. Just consistently.”
I hear the shift in his breathing before he speaks. “Who?”
“Asher Sinclair.”
The reaction is immediate. “That’s ridiculous,” Wade says sharply. Too fast. “Asher’s loyal.”
“So, you keep saying,” I answer calmly. “But loyalty doesn’t erase opportunity.” I let the silence stretch again. “He has access. Legal cover. Plausible deniability. And he’s been present every single time something leaked.”
“That’s circumstantial.”
“Everything is,” I say, voice smooth. “Until it isn’t.”
Another stretch of silence drags between us. I picture him standing in some sleek, expensive office—jaw locked tight, mind racing through every worst-case scenario. He wants this to be true. Not because it makes sense, but because it gives him a target to destroy. “I need time,” Wade finally says.
“You don’t have it,” I reply, voice final. “If Asher realizes you’re onto him, he’ll burn every trail and disappear.” I let the warning settle. “You want him to be comfortable. You want him thinking he’s ahead.” My tone hardens. “Because the second he feels hunted… he’s gone.”
“And what do you suggest?” His voice is clipped now, dangerous.
“I suggest you let me keep digging. Quietly.” I pause, letting my words settle. “Don’t confront him. Don’t tip your hand. And whatever you do,” I add, “don’t change your routine. He’s watching for that.”
“If you’re wrong…”
“I won’t be,” I cut in, voice certain. “But if I am, you lose nothing. If I’m right, you gain control.” Control. That’s the word that hooks him like a blade sliding between the ribs.
“Fine,” Wade says at last, the word dragged out. “But I want updates. Consistently.”
“You’ll get them,” I say, voice flat and final. “When it’s safe.” I hang up before he can argue.
When I step back inside, Cam looks up from his screen. “You poked the bear.”
“Just enough to make him turn,” I answer.
Kiera doesn’t ask what I said. She just watches me, eyes steady and unreadable, like she’s weighing secrets she hasn’t decided to share yet.
“It’s done,” I say. “He’s looking where we want him to look.
” She nods once. No relief. No triumph. Just quiet acceptance.
This isn’t the end of anything. It’s the moment the board finally starts moving in our favor.
The weight in the room finally eases just enough for exhaustion to crash over us like a second wave. Cam leans back in his chair and drags both hands down his face, eyes bloodshot and hollow. “I swear, if I look at one more fucking line of code, I’m going to start seeing it in my dreams.”
Lila snorts, the sound dry and cutting. “Bold of you to assume you haven’t already.” She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’ve been staring at that screen for hours. You’re probably already dreaming in binary.”
Kiera finally breaks. She pushes her laptop away and stretches, arms lifting overhead until her hoodie rides up, exposing a strip of pale skin above the waistband of her shorts.
“I vote we pretend to be functional adults later,” she says, voice edged with exhaustion.
“Right now, I need a nap. A criminally long one.”
I glance at her, eyes lingering a second too long. “You just woke up.”
She shoots me a sharp look. “And I’ve slept less than I have been awake.” Fair.
Cam stands, rolling his shoulders with a low groan. “I’m done fighting my own brain. If I sleep through the apocalypse, that’s on future me.”
Kiera grins at me, that rare spark cutting through the heaviness.
“See? Team nap. Democracy wins.” She brushes past me toward the hallway, her shoulder grazing mine, already committed.
For a moment, the house feels almost normal.
Quiet in a way that doesn’t itch under your skin.
I follow her anyway, knowing the world will be waiting when we wake. And whatever comes next can wait.