Page 58

Two weeks have passed since Hank and Gabe returned. One week until my thesis defense.

The lab space Mitzy allocated to Malikai and me is crammed with evidence of our frantic work—printouts covering every surface, simulations running on three separate screens, and equations scrawled across two whiteboards. The air smells of dry-erase markers and the burnt-coffee residue from too many all-nighters.

“Your containment field stability projections are unprecedented,” Malikai says, scrolling through the latest simulation results. “The committee won’t know what hit them.”

I save the data and stretch, wincing as my spine pops in three places. “I couldn’t have done it without you seeing those phase inconsistencies in the original model.”

Malikai waves this off. “You would have caught them eventually. I just accelerated the process.”

My phone buzzes. A text from Harrison: Your father asked me to drop off some important documents at the condo. Can you meet at 7pm?

I frown. My father hasn’t mentioned sending anything.

Working late with Malikai. What documents ?

Harrison responds: Legal paperwork. Your father insists they need your signature today.

“Coffee break?” Malikai stands, rubbing his eyes. “My brain needs more caffeine to process quantum mechanics at this hour.”

Outside, Guardian HQ feels different.

Tense.

The usual hum of activity is replaced by something more deliberate—security patrols moving with heightened vigilance, operatives traveling in pairs, eyes constantly scanning.

“Is it just me, or are the guards doubled at the perimeter?” I murmur to Malikai as we walk.

“Seems like, and look…” He points to a pair of guards passing by. “They’ve switched to tactical radios instead of the standard comms.”

“Something’s happening,” I whisper, instinctively moving closer to Malikai.

“I heard things,” he admits, voice barely audible above the wind. “In the mess hall this morning. Ethan and Blake talking.”

I slow my pace. “What things?”

Malikai glances around before continuing. “Alpha team was ambushed during a rescue mission in Oceanside. Three operatives wounded. Someone hacked their mission network and fed them looped security camera footage from the target location—they walked right into a trap thinking the corridors were clear.”

My blood turns to ice. “That’s not possible. Guardian’s mission networks are?—”

“Designed by Mitzy herself. I know.” His eyes meet mine, troubled. “That’s what has everyone on edge. Whoever did this had inside knowledge. You think it’s him?” Malikai asks, reading my expression.

“Who else has the resources? The motivation?” I scan the tree line beyond the fence, suddenly feeling exposed. “Hank told me Malfor never stays quiet this long after being compromised.”

“Stitch said the same thing to Mitzy last week. Called his silence unprecedented .”

Three nights ago, I woke to Hank and Gabe’s hushed voices in the living room when they thought I was asleep. Gabe’s words echo in my memory: He’s building something. The bastard always retreats before a major strike.

“He’s like a spider,” I murmur. “Weaving his web, waiting for the perfect moment.”

Malikai’s expression darkens. “And you think that moment is here?”

“Yesterday, I accidentally overheard Forest, Mitzy, Sam, and CJ. They were in the corner booth, speaking about Sentinel’s symbol appearing in three locations in one week.

When we arrive, The Guardian Grind is uncharacteristically quiet. The usual buzz of conversation is muted, replaced by tense whispers and watchful eyes.

Most telling is Max, who’s abandoned his customary spot by the fireplace to stand sentinel at the door.

But what draws my attention is the activity behind the counter. Mike, the maintenance technician, is dismantling the espresso machine, parts spread across the workspace. Two assistants I’ve never seen before work alongside him, one holding tools, the other taking notes on a clipboard.

Mike glances up as we enter, his eyes lingering on me a beat too long before returning to his work.

“What’s happening?” I ask Jenna, who’s watching the proceedings with thinly veiled suspicion.

“Supposedly, the machine couldn’t be fixed,” she answers, her casual tone belied by the tension in her shoulders. “They showed up this morning with a replacement. Wasn’t on the schedule.”

One of Mike’s assistants—the younger one with close-cropped hair and a too-stiff posture—studies me from the corner of his eye while pretending to examine a valve.

“Forest also implemented Level Two security protocols,” Jenna continues, keeping her voice low. “No explanation, but the rumor mill’s working overtime.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Sentinel activity in San Diego. Alpha team ran into trouble during an extraction. Three operatives injured. ”

While Jenna speaks, Mike removes components from the espresso machine, gutting it. His movements are precise, almost mechanical. The older assistant hands him tools before he asks for them, anticipating his needs with suspicious familiarity.

My phone buzzes again. Harrison: Will be at the condo at 7pm with the documents. Your father says it’s important.

Before I can respond, the door opens, and Charlie team enters. The change in atmosphere is immediate—as if the oxygen content suddenly dropped. Conversations halt mid-sentence. Heads turn. Even Max stands at attention.

Hank spots me immediately, his expression softening for a moment before professional detachment reasserts itself. He crosses to me with Gabe close behind, their movements synchronized in a way that speaks of years working in tandem.

“Is everything okay?” I ask as Hank’s arm slides around my waist. His body heat is a stark contrast to the chill that’s taken residence in my bones.

“We have to work late, probably through the night.” A muscle ticks in his jaw.

Gabe kisses my temple, his stubble rough against my skin. “Security updates tonight,” he murmurs, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “Where will you be? Here or at Jenna’s?”

“Jenna’s, probably.” The intensity behind the casual question isn’t lost on me.

His relief is palpable. “Text when you get there. Stay with the group.”

Mike watches our exchange while pretending to examine a circuit board. His assistant whispers something to him, and Mike nods almost imperceptibly.

“What’s going on?” I press. “For real this time.”

Hank and Gabe exchange one of their silent communications—a conversation in micro-expressions that only they can interpret.

“The less you know, the safer you are,” Hank finally says, the finality in his tone brooking no argument.

“I disagree,” I counter. “Knowledge is safety.”

Gabe guides me to a corner table away from prying ears. “Sentinel is becoming more active,” he admits once we’re seated. “The San Diego incident was a trap.”

“Someone had inside information,” Hank adds, his voice hardening. “Forest and Sam are investigating the possibility of a mole.”

My gaze drifts to Mike and his assistants, still methodically disassembling the espresso machine. The younger one is now taking photos of each component with a small camera.

“What about my thesis defense? It’s next week.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Hank promises, though uncertainty shadows his words. “Your safety comes first.”

Before I can think more about Harrison’s message, Charlie team’s comms crackle to life. Ethan answers, his posture straightening as he listens.

“We need to go,” he announces. “Now.”

Hank curses under his breath but rises immediately. Gabe follows, his hand lingering on my shoulder.

“Emergency call,” Hank explains, already moving toward the door. “We’ll check in when we can.”

“Be careful,” I call after them, but they’re already gone.

They sprint toward the operations building, their movements fluid and purposeful. A knot forms in my stomach—tight and insistent.

“That didn’t look good.” Malikai appears at my side, coffee in hand.

“It wasn’t,” I confirm, unable to shake the foreboding crawling up my spine. My attention keeps returning to Mike and his assistants.

They’ve moved to the back of the machine, accessing components that shouldn’t need replacement. The clipboard assistant makes a note, then glances in my direction.

Our eyes meet, and he quickly looks away.

“Malikai,” I say quietly, “does something seem off about the repair crew?”

He studies them for a moment. “I’ve never seen those assistants before. And Mike usually works alone.”

Behind the counter, the younger assistant places something inside the machine—something small and metallic that doesn’t look like any espresso component I’ve ever seen.

I text Hank about the situation: Harrison says my father sent documents for my signature. Wants to meet at the condo at 7.

His response is quick: Plan on staying at HQ all night.

I text Harrison: Plans changed. Staying at Guardian HQ tonight. Can you bring the documents here instead?

Harrison responds quickly: I’ll meet you at Guardian Grind or Ms. Jenna’s apartment if that’s more convenient.

I look up to find Mike staring at me, the espresso machine now reassembled. His expression is unreadable as he wipes his hands on a rag.

“All set,” he tells Jenna. “Good as new.”

The younger assistant collects their tools while the older one hands Jenna a clipboard to sign. “Everything’s in working order now.”

I text Harrison back: At Guardian Grind now. Will be going to Jenna’s apartment later.

I tuck my phone away, trying to push down the growing sense of foreboding. Something isn’t right at Guardian HQ, but I can’t quite put my finger on what.

“You okay?” Malikai asks, studying my expression.

“Just on edge,” I admit. “Like everyone else today.”