Page 1 of The Hacker (Dominion Hall #5)

VIVIENNE

T he studio smelled of sweat and rosin, a sharp, resinous tang that clung to the air.

My pointe shoes, battered and pink, squeaked against the Marley floor of the Charleston Crescent Ballet Company’s rehearsal space, each step a tiny rebellion against the ache in my arches.

I was Vivienne Laveau—Vivi to those who dared get close—and I lived for this: the burn, the precision, the way my body could carve music into motion.

My red curls, wild and barely tamed in a bun, bounced as I spun through a series of fouettés, the mirrors throwing back a blur of pale tights and black leotard. I looked like fire, or so my mama used to say, her New Orleans drawl thick with pride.

Fire that danced, fire that fell.

“Vivi, you’re a half-beat behind!” Madame Odette’s voice sliced through the piano’s melody, her French accent as unyielding as her expectations.

She stood at the front, arms crossed, her silver hair pulled into a bun so tight it seemed to tug at her thoughts.

“Focus, or you’ll be scrubbing rosin off the floor instead of dancing Giselle next month. ”

I flashed her a grin, breathless, my chest heaving. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Madame.”

My legs trembled, but I pushed through, landing the final turn with a flourish. The other dancers clapped lightly, their faces a mix of exhaustion and admiration.

We were a small company, twenty of us, but fierce, clawing our way to relevance in Charleston’s arts scene. The Crescent Ballet was our home, a converted warehouse downtown with high ceilings and a reputation for grit.

“Break, ten minutes,” Madame Odette called, and the room exhaled. I collapsed onto the floor, stretching my legs, my toes screaming for mercy. My friend, Lena Hemming, a willowy brunette with a wicked sense of humor, dropped beside me, her water bottle sloshing.

“You’re gonna kill yourself pushing like that,” she said, nudging my shoulder. “Those turns were insane, but, like, slow down, superstar.”

I laughed, wiping sweat from my brow. “Can’t slow down, Lena. Gotta feel the rush.”

My heart was still pounding, not just from the rehearsal but from the memory of last weekend’s skydive.

The wind roaring, the earth a patchwork quilt below, my body weightless until the chute snapped me back to reality.

I leaned back on my hands, my curls sticking to my neck.

“Speaking of rushes, I’m booking another jump soon. You in?”

Lena groaned, and across the room, our friend Marisol Yokely, a petite dancer with a pixie cut, overheard and joined us, her eyes wide. “Vivi, are you serious? Skydiving again? You’re gonna break an ankle, and then what? No Giselle, no career, just you limping back to New Orleans.”

“Worth it,” I said, grinning.

I could still feel it—the freefall, the way my stomach lurched like I’d left it behind, the world spinning until I was nothing but breath and adrenaline. “It’s like dancing with the sky. You leap, you spin, you fall, and for a second, you’re untouchable. Nothing compares.”

Marisol shook her head, sipping her water. “You’re unhinged. I’m not risking my feet for a thrill. Madame Odette would have your head if she knew.”

“She’d have to catch me first,” I teased, stretching my calves.

My body was a machine, disciplined to a fault, but my soul? That craved chaos.

Growing up in New Orleans, I’d learned to chase what set me alight—jazz on Bourbon Street, the pulse of a second line, the way a storm could make the city feel alive. Skydiving was just the latest fix.

Lena leaned closer, her voice low. “You’re reckless, Vivi, but I love you for it. Just … maybe don’t tell Madame Odette you’re jumping out of planes. She’ll make you do barre for a month straight.”

I snorted, imagining Madame Odette’s horrified face. “Deal. But y’all are missing out. The rush is better than sex.”

Marisol choked on her water, and Lena cackled. “Bold claim, Laveau,” Lena said. “You got someone in mind to test that theory?”

I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks warmed. Romance wasn’t my thing—not when I had dance and the sky to keep me high. Men were distractions, and I didn’t have time for those. Still, Lena’s teasing stirred something, a flicker of curiosity I shoved down fast.

The break ended, and we dragged ourselves back to the barre, Madame Odette’s metronome ticking like a heartbeat.

Hours bled together, my muscles screaming, my mind narrowing to counts and positions.

By the time rehearsal wrapped, I was a sweaty, aching mess, my curls frizzing out of their bun, my leotard clinging to my skin.

I peeled off my pointe shoes, wincing at the blisters, and headed to the office to grab my bag.

The Crescent’s office was a cramped space off the studio, cluttered with posters of past performances and a desk buried under paperwork.

As I stepped inside, I froze.

A man stood there, leaning against the desk, his broad shoulders filling out a black T-shirt, his blond hair catching the fluorescent light.

He was tall—six-three, maybe—muscular in a way that said he worked for it, not just genetics.

His jaw was sharp, his eyes a piercing blue, and he had a smirk that screamed trouble.

He looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a romance novel, all rugged charm and quiet intensity.

My heart did a little pirouette, which I promptly ignored.

“Vivi, there you are!” called Teresa Sneed, our office manager and resident tech guru. She was a wiry woman with a perpetual coffee stain on her blouse. “This is Elias. He’s helping me with … a thing.”

Elias’s eyes flicked to me, and I felt it—a jolt, like the moment before a jump.

Wow.

His gaze lingered on my face, then dipped to my sweat-damp leotard, slow and deliberate. My skin prickled, and I crossed my arms, suddenly aware of my messy curls and flushed cheeks.

“Nice to meet you, Vivi,” he said, his voice low, with a hint of a drawl that didn’t quite place. There was humor in it, like he was already in on a joke I hadn’t heard. “Heard you talking about skydiving out there.”

I raised an eyebrow, tossing my bag onto a chair. “Eavesdropping, huh? Yeah, I jump. You ever tried it?”

His smirk widened, but something tightened in his expression, a flicker of unease. “Nah, I prefer solid ground. Gravity’s my friend.” He said it with a dry chuckle, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Scared of heights?” I teased, stepping closer, my hip brushing the desk. The air between us crackled, and I caught a whiff of his cologne—woodsy, clean, expensive. My pulse kicked up, and I hated how much I noticed it.

“Not scared,” he said, leaning in just enough to make my breath catch. “Just smart. Why jump out of a perfectly good plane when you can stay down here and … enjoy the view?”

His eyes locked on mine, and the room felt smaller, warmer. My lips parted, a retort ready, but Teresa interrupted, oblivious. “Vivi, Elias is a genius with computers. He’s doing me a favor, fixing our system.”

“Fixing what?” I asked, tearing my gaze from Elias. Teresa hesitated, her fingers twisting a pen.

“Just … a glitch,” she said, too quickly. “I hope, anyway. Nothing big.”

Elias’s smirk faltered, and he straightened, his posture shifting to something more guarded. “Yeah, a glitch,” he echoed, but his tone didn’t match Teresa’s. There was weight to it, a secret I couldn’t quite grasp.

I narrowed my eyes, sensing the lie but not pushing. Instead, I turned back to Elias, leaning against the desk, mirroring his stance. “So, Mr. Cipher, what’s your deal? You just wander into ballet companies to fix glitches?”

He laughed, a rich sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Something like that. Friend of a friend. I’m good with tech, and I owed a favor.”

“Must be some favor,” I said, my voice lighter than I felt. His presence was unsettling, like a storm cloud rolling in over the Lowcountry. I wanted to poke at it, see how much I could stir him up. “Sure you don’t want to try skydiving? I could use a partner.”

His jaw tensed, but the grin stayed. “Tempting, Red, but I’ll pass. You keep your death wish. I’ll stick to … safer thrills.”

“Red?” I arched a brow, my curls bouncing as I tilted my head. “Original.”

“Fits you,” he said, his voice dropping, and damn if it didn’t make my stomach flip. He was flirting, and I was falling for it, my body betraying me with every heated glance.

Teresa cleared her throat, breaking the spell. “Vivi, you should head out. Long day tomorrow.”

“Right,” I said, grabbing my bag, but my eyes stayed on Elias. “See you around, Cipher.”

“Count on it,” he replied, and the promise in his voice made my skin tingle.

I was halfway to the door when Teresa’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her face paling. “Elias,” she whispered, her voice tight. “It’s worse than we thought.”

He crossed the room in two strides, his humor gone, replaced by a laser focus that made him look … dangerous. He leaned over her shoulder, reading the screen, and his expression hardened.

“What’s going on?” I asked, pausing in the doorway.

Elias looked up, his blue eyes sharp, unreadable. “The company’s been hacked,” he said, the words landing like a punch. “And I'm going to find out who did it.”