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CHAPTER TWENTY

Evangeline

Darkness settles around us as the last screen dies. Only thin emergency strips along the floor offer any illumination, turning Knight into a collection of shadows and sharp angles. They must be battery-operated, there’s no other way they can be working.

The residual heat from the equipment makes the small room feel like a sauna. My wrists are throbbing, and I shift uncomfortably on the chair, trying to figure out a way to ease the pain.

"Your wrists need fresh bandages." Knight's voice emerges from the darkness. "And you should take more painkillers."

"I'm fine."

"Your breathing changes every time you move. You're not fine." A drawer opens somewhere to my left. "I need you focused, not distracted by pain."

"Why? So you can make me keep repeating the things I've already told you?"

"No." Something rattles in a bottle. "Because this is just the beginning of his game, and if you’re not alert, then you’re a problem. He’s forced me to shut down everything I've built, and I need to know why. That’s where my focus needs to be, not on you potentially collapsing."

Heat presses against my skin as he moves closer. Then his hand touches mine, peeling back the fingers I have clenched into a fist. "Take these." He drops something onto my palm.

"What are they?"

"Cyanide. I've come to the conclusion that murder by poison is a far more acceptable solution than shooting you." His irritable sigh carries clearly. "They're painkillers. Take them before I decide force-feeding you is more appealing than this conversation."

I accept what feels like two pills. He produces a water bottle from somewhere and hands it to me. The water inside is warm but I swallow it anyway, grateful for the small relief. The darkness feels heavier somehow, more oppressive with each passing minute.

"What happens now?" I need to fill the silence with something besides the sound of our breathing.

"Now I figure out why Victor wanted this exact scenario." There’s a frustrated note to his voice. "He knew I'd shut everything down rather than let his virus finish the job. Which means trapping me in here was his goal all along."

"Why would he want that?"

"Because isolation makes you vulnerable." His chair creaks as he shifts position. "No power. No communications. No way to verify anything. Just darkness and whatever truth someone decides to tell you."

“What about your cell phone?”

“I can’t risk turning it back on. It was connected to the same network as the computers. The virus might have gotten to it.”

"Do you think he's going to contact you somehow?"

"He already has. I just haven't figured out what the message is, other than ‘ surprise I’m not dead, and now I’m going to fuck you up unless you learn the rules of this new game and fast .’" Something metal scrapes against the floor. I think he’s moving his chair. "Every detail matters. The phone. The timing. The virus. You ."

The way he says 'you' makes me nervous. "I told you. I don't know anything."

"Maybe that's the point." His voice comes from much closer now. "What better way to deliver a message than through someone who has no idea they're carrying it?"

"He chose me because I was desperate, you mean." The admission tastes bitter. "Because I'd believe anything if it meant finding Michael."

"No." The word emerges sharp and certain. "Victor doesn't waste time on simple manipulation. He could have used anyone's desperation to get a phone into my apartment. But he chose you . Spent weeks building your trust. Learning your patterns. Making himself essential to your search."

The painkillers begin to do their work, dulling the sharp edges of discomfort. But they do nothing for the knot of fear in my stomach. "So what do we do?"

"We wait." Objects shift in the darkness as Knight moves something on his desk. "I need to figure out what was on that phone besides the virus."

"But you can't access it now. Everything's off."

"Exactly. Which means whatever he wanted me to find, I missed it. The virus was just theatrics. Something obvious to keep my focus where he wanted it, instead of on his real end game."

I try to track his movements, but the emergency strips cast more shadows than light. "You really think there was something else?"

"Victor doesn't create simple plans." Papers rustle somewhere to my right. "Every move has multiple purposes. The virus forcing a shutdown was too obvious."

"Maybe he just wanted to prove he could get to you."

His laugh holds no humor. "He did that the second you walked through my door with working access codes." The sound of more drawers opening. "No, this is something else. The question is, what did he want me looking at when the power went out?"

"The countdown?"

"Or what the countdown was counting down to." Something heavy hits his desk. "Think. What exactly happened right before I cut power?"

I try to remember through the fog of fear and painkillers. "There were alarms. Heat warnings. The virus was spreading ..."

"What else?"

"You were tracking something. Some kind of pattern?"

"The code." His voice sharpens. "It wasn't just Victor's style. There were other signatures mixed in. Like someone else had helped design it."

"Another hacker?"

"A student." He goes quiet for a moment. "Someone learning his methods. But their work was different. Less elegant. More direct."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because Victor Nash doesn't share his techniques with just anyone." Papers crumple. "He isn’t out there taking on students. He comes to you. He tests you. Which means whoever helped him build that virus is important to his plan."

My shirt clings to my skin, and the bandages on my wrists feel damp.

"Those bandages need changing." His voice startles me out of my thoughts. "The gauze won't hold in this heat."

"It's fine."

"It's really not." Something rustles. "And I need my workspace to not smell like infection when this is over. Hold still."

More things move around. "I can do it myself."

"In the dark? With shaking hands?" I don’t know how he manages to make his laugh sound sarcastic, but he does. "Just shut up and let me work. Consider it enlightened self-interest. I don't want to deal with sepsis on top of everything else."

His hands are surprisingly gentle as he unwinds the bandages. Each touch is clinical. But even that small contact feels too intimate in the darkness.

"Do you think he's watching us somehow?"

"I think Victor Nash doesn't do anything without knowing exactly how it will play out."

He applies something cool to the cuts. It stings a little, but I hold still.

"And right now, we're doing exactly what he expected."

"How do you know what he expects?"

"Because he taught me everything I know about strategy." Fresh gauze wraps around my wrist. "Every move has a counter-move. Every plan has layers. The obvious threat is never the real one."

"So what's his real plan?"

"That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?" He secures the bandage. "I need to figure out what he’s set in motion before it decides to show itself."