Page 65 of Hunt Me

“They’ve been watching me.” The words taste like ash. “This whole time, they’ve known exactly what I was doing.”

“Hey.” Alexi’s hand covers mine, stopping the tremor. “Look at me.”

I force my eyes from the screen to his face.

“We’re going to shut them out.” His voice carries absolute certainty. “Together, we can do it. You and me—we’re better than any intelligence operation they’ve got running.”

“Alexi—”

“No.” He squeezes my fingers. “I’ve spent my entire life three steps ahead of people trying to track me. You’ve done the same. They might have been watching, but they haven’t caught you yet. And now you’re not alone anymore.”

The weight in my chest loosens slightly.

“So, we clean house,” he continues. “Every trace, every breadcrumb, every ghost signature you’ve ever left. Then we rebuild from scratch with methods they’ve never seen before.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Where do we start?”

“Your personal systems first. Show me your current security architecture.”

We fall into synchronized rhythm, passing code back and forth like musicians trading riffs. Alexi dismantles my firewalls and rebuilds them with quantum-encrypted layers that shift their parameters every seventeen seconds. I implement his distributed routing protocols while developing new obfuscation techniques that blend our signatures into background noise.

Three energy drinks later, he’s teaching me how to spoof my own digital fingerprint. I watch him work, mesmerized by the efficiency of his keystrokes, the way he anticipates system responses before they occur.

“There’s a pattern in Morrison’s communication logs,” I say, pulling up the data. “Encrypted traffic every Tuesday at 2 AM Eastern.”

“Scheduled reports.” Alexi doesn’t look up from rewriting my packet signatures. “Probably automated. We can use that.”

I start building a parser to intercept and decode the traffic without triggering alerts. Alexi glances over and makes a small adjustment to my code that improves efficiency by forty percent.

“Show-off,” I mutter.

His lips quirk. “You’re the one who just optimized my routing algorithm.”

“That was barely?—”

“Twenty-two percent faster.” He saves my updated security protocols. “Accept the compliment,detka.”

The comfortable silence returns. Outside, Boston traffic hums. Inside, we construct digital fortresses that even ghosts can’t penetrate.

My laptop pings—another layer secured, invisible to everyone except us.

“Food.” Alexi closes his laptop with decisive finality. “When did you last eat?”

I check the time—nearly six PM. “Last night. Maybe.”

“Unacceptable.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls through delivery apps. “Thai, Indian, or Italian?”

“Thai. Extra spicy.”

He orders without consulting me.

“Thirty minutes,” he says, stretching lean muscles. His shirt rides up, exposing a strip of skin that makes my mouth go dry despite everything.

I drag my attention back to my screen, pretending to review code I’ve already perfected twice.

“Stop.” He plucks the laptop from my hands, setting it aside. “Your brain needs rest, or you’ll miss something critical.”

“I’m fine.”