Page 9 of Make Them Bleed

Satisfied her inbox is clear of immediate threats, I open my own mail—mostly server alerts, freelance web-design gig invoices, and spam. So much spam.

I minimize windows, but sleep remains reluctant. My mind spirals through worst-case scenarios: The Five spotting Juno, cops tracing Hoover’s IP, Juno discovering the spyware. The biggest fear, though, is simpler—her looking at me with betrayal instead of trust.

I push back from the desk and pace between bookcase and bed, stepping over piles of comics. I force-march my thoughts into a mantra:Protect her first. Confess later.

Eventually exhaustion wins. I set phone alarms—one for sunrise recon of Juno’s building, one for the fake account drop. I crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling fan, counting rotations. Somewhere around the three-hundredth spin, I drift into shallow sleep populated by rubber Hoover masks and Juno’s scream turning into laughter I can’t quite reach.

The buzzof incoming mail snaps me awake at 4:06 a.m. I’m upright before consciousness fully returns, fingers flying acrossthe keyboard. It’s nothing—just a social-media digest. But the adrenaline is pure rocket fuel. No going back to sleep now.

I open a blank notepad and start mapping tomorrow’s tasks:

Create a secure dropbox for Juno’s files.

Run facial-recognition on Arby’s final followers list vs. local arrest records.

Cross-reference the timestamp of masked intruders’ entry with city-grid power fluctuation data (someone cut cameras—maybe they hit power junctions?).

Buy a second,breathablemask.

Flowers for Juno—no, scratch that. Hoover wouldn’t send flowers.

Halfway through item five my phone vibrates.

Gage: U awake?

It’s followed by a bleary selfie with coffee. I chuckle and text back:

Insomnia posse never sleeps.

He thumbs-up reacts, then:

Gage: Seriously, anything I can do?

I hesitate, then type:

Know how to set up a shell corporation?

I follow it with a winking emoji.