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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Knight

The code fragments start to merge together the deeper I dig into Victor’s warnings. Glitch has fallen asleep in the chair beside me, her head tilted awkwardly to one side. She hasn’t moved in hours, wrapped tightly around herself as if that will ward off the inevitable ache from her poor position. I should wake her, tell her to use the couch or go to bed, but her quiet presence sharpens my focus.

I don’t want to examine why.

Another sequence unlocks, revealing more fragments buried under Victor’s signature encryption. Every line of the logs is deliberate, precise, and fucking maddening. Victor has left his fingerprints all over it, a taunt wrapped in code. He didn’t just anticipate my moves; he predicted them, and documented every failure in advance as if to teach me something.

But there’s more here than just Victor. The second coder’s work is harder to overlook now. Their contributions are functional but messy. Commands that work but don’t flow the same way as my mentor’s. Where Victor’s code is like an elegant equation, theirs is a patchwork quilt, stitched together in a rush. It’s clear they weren’t just following orders; they were struggling to keep up.

I crack the first layer of encryption, and the usual pattern emerges: coordinates.

Of course . Victor always starts with coordinates. It’s his way of pointing me forward without bothering to explain what I’m walking into.

I glance at Glitch. She’s still curled in the chair, strands of dark hair spilling over her face. For someone whose world has been flipped upside down, she looks remarkably calm. But I know better. That kind of stillness isn’t peace—it’s exhaustion.

“Hey.” I nudge her chair with my foot. “Unless you want to wake up shaped like a pretzel, you might want to stretch.”

She stirs, blinking slowly, her gaze unfocused. “What time is it?”

“Late.” I lean back in my chair. “Or early, depending on how you look at it.”

She stretches, wincing as she rubs her neck. “You’re still working?”

“No, I took a break to write poetry and learn the violin. What gave it away?”

Her lips twitch into a small smile. “How’s it going?”

“Terribly. Turns out sarcasm is my only real talent. I should quit the day job and become a stand up comedian.”

She stands. “What’s that?”

“They stand up on a stage and tell jokes.”

She actually rolls her eyes at me. I hide a smile.

“It’s Victor’s latest breadcrumb. Go make coffee if you’re awake. This could take a while.”

She grumbles something under her breath but gets up.

The first layer is simple enough to crack, but it’s never just one. Victor doesn’t work that way. Every clue is buried under another, forcing me to peel back the layers one at a time. By the time Eva returns with two mugs of coffee, I’m staring at a timestamp blinking steadily beneath the coordinates.

She hands me the coffee and sits beside me, her eyes flicking between me and the screen. “What’s it say?”

“It’s a date and time.” I take a sip.

I crack the second layer, and the fragments begin to form into something clearer.

Adaptive protocol. Oversight needed.

I lean back, rubbing a hand over my face.

Eva frowns, her mug resting on her knee. “What does that mean?”

“It means the virus wasn’t just designed to breach systems—it was designed to evolve in real time,” I say. “This is Victor’s way of telling me that the second coder’s work was vital to making that happen.”

Her brow creases. “Do you think it’s Michael?”

“I don’t know. Without seeing the way your brother codes, I can only guess.” I carry on scrolling through the logs. “But if Victor went to these lengths to give me a warning, it means something is about to happen, and he needs me to be aware of it.”

The third layer of encryption is tougher. Victor’s work is flawless, each line a masterpiece of code. It’s impressive, even for him, and frustrating as hell. My jaw tightens as I type, each keystroke pushing me closer to the answers I need.

“What is it with him and making things harder than they need to be?” Her voice breaks the silence.

“It’s not about difficulty.” I don’t look up. “It’s about control. Victor likes proving he’s smarter than everyone else. And maybe he is, but that doesn’t make him less of a pain in the ass.”

"Knight?" Her voice carries an edge of fear. "What aren't you telling me?"

I sigh, and sit up straight, reaching back to rub at my spine. "I told you there’s another signature in the code, a second coder?” She nods. “Well, that coder helped design this virus. I think Victor is trying to tell me something about them. There are oddities in the code. Like the second person’s work is being forced into specific parameters that they don’t usually use.”

The implications hang heavy in the air between us, although I’m pretty sure she has no idea what it means. She shifts closer, probably unconsciously seeking stability as her world tilts again. Her shoulder presses against mine, warm through the thin material of my shirt.

"I should have known something was wrong." The words emerge barely above a whisper. "I should have tried harder to reach him."

"Hey." Without thinking I reach out and catch her jaw, forcing her to meet my eyes. "This isn't on you. We don’t know if this is anything to do with your brother." But my instincts are telling me otherwise. The coincidences stack up too much to be anything else.

Tears gather in her eyes but don't fall. Something in my chest twists at the sight. Before I can stop myself, my thumb brushes across her cheekbone.

She leans into the touch, and just like that the space between us feels charged with possibilities I can't afford to acknowledge. Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers. My own heart rate kicks up to match.

"Eva ..." The word comes out rough, a warning I'm not sure is meant for her or myself.

She shifts closer, erasing what little distance remains between us. My hand slides from her cheek to curve around the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. Every instinct screams that this is dangerous, that I can’t risk this kind of vulnerability.

Then her lips brush mine, hesitant and uncertain, and thinking becomes impossible. The kiss deepens before I can stop it, before I can remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat that undoes what's left of my control.

For a brief moment, everything else fades—the virus, the logs, Victor. All I can feel is her warmth, her presence anchoring me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

It’s grounding and dangerous all at once.

The chime from the computer slices through the moment like a knife. I pull away abruptly, my breathing uneven, and turn back to the screen.

Victor’s final breadcrumb resolves, the directive blinking in stark letters.

Deadline critical.

Watch the clock.

Manual stop required.

I stare at the words.

“Of course it’s fucking critical. Because nothing’s ever fucking simple with you.”

“What does it mean?”

I glance at her. “It means I need to work." The words come out harsher than intended. "And you need to rest. Actually rest, not just doze in that chair. Go to bed."

She stands on shaky legs, and I deliberately don't watch her leave. I don't let myself think about how she tasted, or how perfectly she fit against me. And I absolutely don’t acknowledge the way my body hums with the need to pull her back.