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I curl up on the black leather sofa with a bowl of cereal and his backup tablet. I crack the first layer of the firewall in less than three minutes. Half my focus is on the screen—the other half is on the hallway, listening for footsteps.
He’s not coming.
Not yet.
Which means I still have time.
To get deeper. To find out what Ironveil really means. Why the name Specter lives in his files.
And what it has to do with the girl in the photo I found buried in subfolders.
Is she the ‘she’ he referred to?
Or is she…itworse?
I crunch a spoonful of cornflakes and open a new window.
My pulse is steady. My breathing calm. I squirm and the presence of the plug pulses, sending new, salacious ideas on howto tackle this through my depraved brain. If I’m to be mired in lust and surrender, maybe I can use that to my advantage?
My fingers slow and the idea takes hold. Builds.
Shimmers with purpose and possibility.
Dante
She thinksI don’t know.
That I didn’t notice the faint shift in her voice when I walked in earlier. The twitch of her fingers over the trackpad, the barely suppressed rush of adrenaline in her pupils.
She was inside the fucking system again in the middle of the night.  Rooting around Vesper and Specter.
She’s careful, I’ll give her that. Cool as polished glass on the surface. But underneath? The vigilante brat throwing a tantrum. She’s lit wire and storm surge—reckless when she thinks the risk is worth the reward.
And tonight, she decidedIwas worth it.
I pour myself a glass of Oban, neat, and sit at the edge of the long mahogany desk. Her fingerprints are still on the lid of the laptop. Her scent—vanilla, ozone, something uniquely hers—lingers in the leather chair.
She’s getting too close. Too fucking close. And not just to the files.
Tome.
I’ve spent years building walls that not even God could breach. But Dahlia?
She keeps finding the cracks.
And every time she kneels for me… the instinct that screams she was right for me flares with pride. Every time she whimpersmy name with her lips red and swollen, eyes glassy from submission… I forget why I built the walls in the first place.
I should’ve shut this down the first night. Should’ve reminded myself what she is: a thief, a hacker, a professional manipulator. She’s playing the long game, and I know it.
I fuckingrespectit.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because I’m playing one too.
Tonight, I’ll fuck her into a state of ruin so deep she won’t be able to remember her goddamn name, let alone her passwords.
And while she’s limp and panting and destroyed beneath me?