Page 18 of Make Them Bleed

Gage perks up. “Knight’s uncle owns that abandoned print shop near the river. Still got power.”

Knight smirks. “Place smells like ink and disappointment, but it’s empty and locked. I can get keys.”

I consider. Riverfront’s isolated, but not deserted. Close enough to Juno’s apartment. “Make it happen. I’ll rig Wi-Fi through a tethered node, keep everything air-gapped.”

Gage claps once, triumphant. “Boys’ clubhouse, but for murder investigations.”

Knight stands, and stretches like a panther. “Cue the montage.”

Two hours later,we’ve turned the print-shop office into a makeshift war room: spare desks dragged into a rough horseshoe around a thrift-store whiteboard, extension cords snaking like vines, my portable router blinking amber. Knight’s hauled in two extra monitors and a gaming tower that hums like a dragon.

I test the VPN tunnel—green. Data sandbox—green. Motion camera at the door—live feed pops onto Screen 3.

Gage plasters the whiteboard with sticky notes:Troll Handles, Crypto Wallet, Possible Exes, Power-Grid Outages.It looks half conspiracy theory, half startup incubator.

“Not bad for zero budget,” Knight says, parking his hands on his hips. “Needs snacks, though.”

“I’ll hit the bodega,” Gage volunteers, grabbing his wallet. “Nobody steals my code fuel.”

When he’s gone, I boot my laptop and slide the Herbert-Hoover mask from my backpack, setting it upright on the desk. Knight whistles low. “That thing’s nightmare fuel.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter, wiping my finger across the rubber brow.

Knight tilts his head, studying me. “Look, man, you’ve been in love with Juno since dinosaurs. You sure this secret-identity thing won’t blow up in your face?”

I tap the mask’s cheek, and hear the hollow rubber echo. “I’m sure it will. But keeping her alive counts more.”

Knight nods—solemn for once. “Ride or die, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“And if she figures it out?”

The air between us feels thin. I picture Juno’s wide hazel eyes filling with betrayal. I picture her forgiving smile, too. Unsure which hurts more.

“I’ll deal with it,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll apologize for lying…after she’s safe.”

Knight claps a hand on my shoulder—weighty but reassuring. “Then let’s make damn sure she lives to yell at you.”

We get to work. Knight scrubs forum archives; I set up encryption keys; Gage returns with plastic bags rattling full of energy drinks, beef jerky, and suspiciously neon pastries. We dive into theory swapping while joystick duels break the tension every forty-five minutes.

At one point Knight pauses the game, controller dangling. “Rumor says, Arby was dating someone?”

“I never saw evidence,” I admit, scrolling through an archival ZIP. “But she guarded her private life like Fort Knox.”

Gage tears open jerky. “We should cross-match her last sponsorship trips with city CCTV. Maybe she traveled with a mystery plus-one.”

“Good,” I say. “I’ll send the itinerary to Dean’s contact and see if airport security cams pick up her entourage.”

Knight grins. “Look at us, baby birds leaving the nest, flapping into felony territory.”

“Cyber-felony,” I correct. “Totally different sentencing.”

We laugh, but the drive is relentless. At some point my phone buzzes with a message from Hoover’s encrypted channel—me, reminding myself to text Juno the new meeting location.

I type:

Warehouse loft, 142 Riverside. Midnight tonight. Come alone.