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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Knight

Years of training snap my mind to full alertness the second my eyes open. Unfortunately, my body doesn’t follow. I’m tangled around Glitch, one arm curved over her waist, her back pressed against my chest. Somehow, during the night, we’ve shifted from our positions at opposite sides of the bed until there’s no space left between us.

The scent of the motel’s shampoo fills my nose. She’s warm against me, soft in ways that make my body respond before my brain can shut it down. Her breathing stays deep and even, undisturbed by my body’s reaction to her closeness.

I should move, put some distance between us before she wakes up and discovers how completely I’ve invaded her space. But extracting myself without waking her is going to require more coordination than I want to attempt while my body is enjoying her proximity way too much.

The tablet lies out of reach on the table where I left it, screen dark.

Work. Focus. The logs hold answers I need to find.

With careful movements, I ease my arm off her waist. She makes a small sound of protest in her sleep, and I freeze. But her breathing stays steady, her body relaxed against mine.

Trust. Unconscious, unearned trust that sets my teeth on edge.

Once I’m finally free, I slide off the bed, and retrieve the tablet. The cheap motel chair creaks as I settle into it, but Glitch doesn’t stir. I don’t bother turning on the desk light, the screen provides enough illumination to work without disturbing her sleep.

The attack logs fill the screen as I return to my analysis. The first wave shows the crude, aggressive style I noticed before. Someone using brute force where finesse would work better. But beneath that obvious assault, there’s something else. A pattern in the system breaches that feels deliberate.

My gaze keeps drifting to the bed where Glitch sleeps on, curled into the warm space I left behind. The sight distracts me from the sequences I’m trying to analyze, losing my place. I force my attention back to the logs, scrolling through timestamps that tell a story I’m not sure I want to read.

Victor taught me a long time ago that attack patterns are like fingerprints. Every hacker has their own style, their own way of moving through systems. The logs show two distinct approaches—the sledgehammer and the scalpel. But there’s something else there. Something in the way certain breaches occurred that bothers me.

A soft sound draws my gaze back to her. She’s shifted, face pressed into the pillow, dark hair spilling across the white cotton. Her arms are by her head, wrapped around the pillow, and the position pulls her shirt up slightly, exposing a strip of skin above her sweatpants. I look away, clenching my jaw.

Focus on the logs. On the way the timing of specific system failures creates a rhythm that shouldn’t exist. Victor’s lessons echo in my head. Patterns within patterns, and about how the best messages hide in plain sight.

“Knight?” Glitch’s voice emerges sleep-rough and confused.

I don’t look up from the tablet. “Go back to sleep.”

The bedsprings protest as she ignores me, and I can’t stop myself from glancing over, just as she pushes herself up and winces, clearly having forgotten her injured wrists.

“What time is it?”

“Still early. Go back to bed.”

She ignores me again, because of course she does. “Have you found something?”

I expand another section of the logs, studying the timing of each breach. “Maybe. There’s something wrong with the attack patterns.”

“Wrong how?” She moves to the edge of the bed, close enough that I can feel the heat from her body.

“The timing is too perfect.” I highlight a sequence. “See these system failures?” She nods. “They’re coordinated down to the millisecond. That’s not normal, even for experienced hackers.”

She leans closer, peering at the screen, her hair falling over my shoulder. “Is that good or bad?”

The scent of her skin distracts me from answering. I shift away, putting space between us.

“It means that someone wanted me to notice the pattern. These aren’t random breaches. They’re a message.”

“From Victor?”

I study another sequence of timestamps. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t there.”

She draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. The position makes her look smaller, vulnerable .

“You said there were two different styles in the attack. Could one of them be trying to tell you something?”

My fingers still on the screen. That’s … not a stupid question. The crude attacks could be a cover up for something more subtle. Something hidden in between the timing of the specific system failures.

“Knight?” Her voice pulls me away from that dangerous line of thinking. “What does it mean?”

“It means I need better equipment.” I minimize the logs, frustration burning through me. “These patterns … There’s something here … something I’m missing. Something I can’t see properly with this piece of shit tablet.”

She shifts closer again, and I force myself not to snap at her, push her away. “But you think someone might have left you a message in there somehow?”

“Someone left something .” I scroll through more timestamps. “Whether it’s a message or a trap remains to be seen.”

The tablet screen blurs slightly as exhaustion tries to reclaim me. Glitch’s warmth behind me doesn’t help my concentration. Neither does the memory of waking up wrapped around her. It’s a betrayal of everything I need to maintain.

“You should try and get more sleep.” Her voice is soft.

“I need to work.”

“You need to rest.” Her hand touches my arm, and I tense. “You can’t solve this if you’re exhausted. I know you don’t like to admit it, but you’re not a computer.”

I want to snap at her, pull away from the oddly gentle concern in her voice. I want to remind her that she’s part of whatever game is being played. Instead, I find myself fighting against the urge to let her win this round.

“Sleep. It’s all going to still be there in a few hours.”

She’s right, which just makes it worse. Tiredness is pulling at me, making it harder to focus on the timestamps I need to understand. Harder to remember why I shouldn’t trust her quiet presence beside me.

“Two hours,” I concede. “Then we need to move.”

This time when we settle onto the bed, I make sure I’m on the far edge, away from her. As sleep claims me again, I can’t shake the feeling that someone deliberately left those patterns in the logs. Whether it’s a warning or a trap, I’ll need better equipment to figure that out.

And I need to stop letting Glitch’s presence affect my ability to think clearly.