Page 28 of Knight (Chambers Brothers Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Knight

My skin itches from the tunnel grime and dried sweat. Each movement reminds me that I spent too long crawling through maintenance shafts. Even my clothes feel wrong, coated in dust and whatever else was in those tunnels.

But I need to make a start on analyzing the security logs. There has to be something in them that will help me understand what Victor’s end game is. I have the tablet on the table, with the flash drive beside it, but I haven’t turned it on yet. It needs to charge first.

Glitch picks at her food, pretending she’s not watching my every move. The table I’m using as a makeshift workstation creaks as I shift position.

I need to focus, get to work, but the physical discomfort is impossible to ignore. I can’t think clearly when I feel like I’m carrying half the building’s infrastructure.

A shower would help, but that means taking my eyes off her.

I went out for food and medical supplies and she didn’t leave. Is she really going to take off while I have a shower?

I study her over the top of the tablet. She’s exhausted, injured, and clearly terrified. Even if she wanted to try something, she’s in no condition to move fast. That’s probably the only reason she didn’t take off while I was gone.

She jumps when I stand, but I don’t say anything, just check the lock on the motel room’s door, then grab the bag of clothes I bought earlier, and head for the bathroom.

I strip out of my clothes, place my gun beside the sink and step into the shower. It’s not great, the water pressure in my shower at home is better, but it’s hot enough to ease some of the tension from my shoulders. Even through the noise of the water, I stay alert for any sound from the other room while I scrub tunnel dust and dried sweat from my skin.

When I emerge, skin still damp from the poor excuse for a towel, Glitch is exactly where I left her. She’s still picking at her food like she’s afraid it might bite back. The burger wrapper crinkles as she unfolds it again.

I go back to the table and rearrange the tablet and flash drive. The chair creaks ominously when I sit. At least the outlet works. I checked that before I left to get supplies.

“Eat your food properly instead of playing with it.” I don’t look up from the tablet, pressing down the button to power it up. “If you pass out from low blood sugar, I’m not carrying you when it’s time to leave.”

A soft sound that might be a protest emerges from her direction, but she does take a bite from the burger. The noise of the wrapper is going to drive me insane if she keeps messing with it.

The tablet takes forever to boot up. I’m used to systems that respond instantly, not consumer-grade hardware that thinks about each command before deciding whether to cooperate. The only reason I had it in my workspace was to watch movies while waiting for certain scripts to run when I was working. While I wait, I’m acutely aware of Glitch’s attention shifting between me and her food. She thinks she’s being subtle about watching me. She isn’t.

Finally, the screen comes to life. I plug in the flash drive, grateful I had the presence of mind to dump my security logs before everything went dark. The attack patterns should give me some insight into what Victor is really planning, beyond the obvious system breach.

Glitch moves around behind me, but she’s just finding the remote for the television. She flicks through channels before settling on some cooking show. The host’s overly cheerful voice fills the silence, talking about the proper way to caramelize onions.

It’s better than the noise of the burger wrapper, I guess.

I ignore her pretending not to watch me and start analyzing the data I managed to save. The tablet’s processing speed is frustratingly slow, each command taking precious seconds to execute. I’m used to having multiple screens, proper processing power, tools that respond instantly to my requirements. This feels like trying to perform surgery with plastic safety scissors.

The television host moves on to discussing knife techniques. Glitch shifts on the edge of the bed, the movement drawing my attention despite my attempt to focus solely on the screen. She’s fighting sleep, her eyes heavy-lidded as she stares at the television screen, but it’s obvious she’s not really watching it. The food sits half-eaten beside her.

"It's not poisoned." I don’t look up from the tablet. “I wouldn’t waste my time patching you up just to poison you later.”

She doesn’t reply, and I return my focus to the screen in front of me. The security logs paint a clear picture of Victor’s systematic dismantling of my defenses. But there’s something else here, buried in the pattern of the attacks. Something about the timing, the way each breach was calculated for maximum effect.

A soft thud draws my attention. Glitch has curled her legs beneath her. The position can’t be comfortable, but she’s clearly trying to stay awake. Trying to keep me in her sight line while pretending that’s not what she’s doing. She fails to hide another yawn behind her hand.

This is ridiculous.

Standing, I cross to where she’s perched. She tenses as I approach but she’s too exhausted to do more than blink up at me. Without giving her time to protest, I slide one arm under her knees and the other behind her back.

She makes a small sound of surprise as I lift her.

“What are you?—”

“Putting you to bed.” I carry her around the side of the mattress. “Your stubbornness isn’t helping either of us.”

She’s lighter than I expected, days of stress and not eating properly won’t have helped. The bandages on her wrists stand out stark against her skin as I set her down.

“I need to work,” I tell her, stepping back. “ You need to sleep.”

She settles against the pillows, already losing the battle with exhaustion. Her eyes flutter closed, then snap open again as she forces herself to stay alert.

I return to the tablet, but my attention keeps getting pulled to the way she’s fighting against sleep. Every time her eyes close, she jerks herself awake, like she’s afraid of what might happen if she lets her guard down.

The logs reveal more of Victor’s methods with each passing minute, but the tablet’s limitations make detailed analysis almost impossible. He planned this too—forcing me to work with inadequate tools while trying to understand his game.

The television drones on, now discussing the proper temperature for cooking steak. Glitch’s breathing finally evens out as exhaustion wins. In sleep, the fear smooths from her face, making her look younger. More vulnerable.

I force my attention back to the data in front of me. Somewhere out there, my mentor is waiting to see if I’ll solve his puzzle before his next move shifts the game again.