Page 8 of The Hacker (Dominion Hall #5)

VIVIENNE

B y the time rehearsal ended, my feet were sore and my bun was falling apart, but I still had adrenaline buzzing under my skin.

I didn’t want to go home.

Didn’t want to ice my ankles, or eat protein-packed ballet snacks, or scroll through Netflix pretending to care about what normal people did on weeknights.

No.

I wanted chaos.

And I knew exactly who to call.

“Jessa,” I said into the phone, breathless, as I stepped out of the building. “You doing anything illegal tonight?”

She grinned without missing a beat.

“I can be.”

A few hours later, we were crammed in her ancient Jeep, engine coughing down East Bay Street as twilight settled over Charleston like a veil.

“Please tell me this plan is as stupid as you made it sound,” she said, foot tapping the gas like she was vibrating with the same restless energy I felt.

“Stupid enough to get a certain someone’s attention,” I said.

Her eyes darted to me, then back to the road. “You mean the hacker Viking with the murder glare?”

“That’s the one.”

Jessa let out a low whistle. “Girl, I knew you had a thing for danger, but damn.”

I didn’t respond. Didn’t need to.

She knew. She always knew.

About the way I sought out storms, craved the edge of control. About the way I was drawn to men with shadows stitched into their skin—soldiers, drifters, artists who burned too hot.

But this was different.

Elias wasn’t just another thrill.

He didn’t flirt. Didn’t chase. Didn’t even seem to want me—except when he did, and it showed in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his eyes tracked every inch of me like he hated himself for it.

That restraint?

That feral tension coiled behind his cold logic?

It got under my skin more than any smooth-talking adrenaline junkie ever had.

He wasn’t my usual type—the ones who burned fast and fizzled before dawn.

He was precision. Pressure. Power barely held in check. Maybe that was what scared me the most. Because I’d walked away from a hundred bad ideas before.

But Elias Dane didn’t feel like a bad idea. He felt like a bomb with no timer. And I was the one lighting the fuse.

Jessa didn’t push—she never did—but she shot me a sidelong glance that said she saw everything.

The reckless hunger in my eyes. The obsession already curling around me.

She didn’t ask if he was worth it. Because we both knew that question didn’t matter anymore. I was already in too deep. And I didn’t want out.

The Ravenel Bridge loomed ahead, all cables and steel, cutting across the sky like a ribcage. The sun had dipped below the marsh. The bridge glowed in the haze, majestic, dangerous, begging to be touched.

“Driving over it?” Jessa asked, slowing.

“No.”

I pointed to the gravel turnout near the base on the Charleston side. “We’re climbing it.”

She barked out a laugh. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“Absolutely,” I said, already pulling off my sweatshirt to reveal the black tank top beneath. “Let’s go.”

But she didn’t move right away.

Jessa stared up at the dark steel skeleton of the Ravenel Bridge, her expression suddenly less amused and more … tense.

The wind cut harder this close to the water, sharp and unpredictable. From the open Jeep windows, it lifted the ends of her braid and whipped my curls into my mouth.

“You know if we fall,” she said slowly, “it won’t be a broken ankle this time. It’ll be game over. Splat on the pavement. Or the water, if we’re lucky. But from that height?” She shook her head. “Water feels like concrete.”

I paused, hands gripping the dash. The air smelled like rust and salt and wet metal. Down below, the harbor traffic passed obliviously. Boats. Barges. Giant container ships that didn’t stop for much of anything.

Jessa’s voice dropped to a whisper. “We won’t survive it, Vivi. Not a misstep. Not a gust of wind at the wrong time.”

For a second, just a heartbeat, her fear twisted something inside me.

But I looked up.

At the cables soaring into the sky like silver wires spun by gods.

At the massive pylons that held it all together, strong and impossible.

At the promise of flight and falling and the thin line between the two.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “But imagine if we don’t fall.”

Jessa exhaled hard, like she knew I couldn’t be talked down.

Because I couldn’t. Not tonight.

Not with that pressure in my chest, the same one that had followed me from Elias’s voice echoing across the office to his eyes locking with mine like he was already tearing me apart.

I needed to fly.

Or crash.

Or maybe both.

We parked behind a utility trailer, ditched our bags in the back, and jogged to the fence that marked the construction access path. A warning sign flashed red in the growing dark:

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

Perfect.

“Last chance to chicken out,” I whispered, fingers curling around the chain-link.

Jessa rolled her eyes. “If we die, I’m blaming you from the afterlife.”

“Deal.”

We scaled the fence fast. Years of barre work gave me the kind of balance that made rooftops and scaffolding feel like stage sets.

The structure creaked under our weight as we climbed the first exterior catwalk, then up the maintenance ladder bolted to one of the support pylons. My breath was tight in my chest. Not from fear. From anticipation.

Jessa climbed beside me with a muttered curse.

“You owe me a drink if we survive this.”

“If we survive this,” I said with a grin, “I’ll buy you the whole damn bar.”

But we didn’t stop. Because I wasn’t looking for permission. I was looking for a reaction. And somewhere out there in the dark, I knew one very specific man was about to give it to me.

The wind whipped harder the higher we went, tugging at my curls, plastering my tank top to my skin. The harbor stretched out below us—black and shimmering, speckled with tugboats and cargo lights. Charleston twinkled at our backs.

“Jesus, Vivi,” Jessa muttered as we perched on the crossbeam maybe four stories up, legs dangling. “This is ... fucking insane.”

I tilted my head back and laughed into the wind.

“This,” I said, “is living.”

She pulled out her phone—because, of course, she did—and aimed the camera down toward the water, then toward our feet hanging off a literal death trap.

“Smile for your stalker,” she said, teasing.

I didn’t even blink. I looked straight into the lens and smirked.

“Already watching,” I said under my breath.

And I wasn’t wrong.

There was no way Elias wasn’t seeing this.

Someone would tag it. Someone always did. Charleston’s thrill-seeker crowd lived for this kind of thing. I could practically feel his eyes on me from wherever he was holed up—watching, seething, probably destroying a keyboard with his bare hands.

God, I hoped so.

The wind howled, and somewhere far below, a horn blared from a barge slicing through the harbor. Jessa nudged me. “Okay, I hate to ruin your death-flirting vibe, but I think we should climb down before someone calls the cops.”

“Five more minutes.”

“Vivi—”

“I want him to come find me,” I whispered.

Jessa blinked. “What?”

I stood slowly, shoes wobbling on steel, arms outstretched like wings. “I want him to lose control.”

The wind whipped my hair across my face, and my body vibrated with the hum of the city, the danger, the high of being untouchable.

Somewhere out there, Elias Dane was watching this.

And I wanted him furious.

“Vivi, come on,” Jessa called, her voice strained over the gusts. “This is the part of the horror movie where the best friend dies because she didn’t leave when she had the chance.”

I just smiled and stepped away from the beam we’d been sitting on, gripping the nearest support cable. The steel was cold and slightly slick with sea spray. My shoes slid for a half-second before catching.

Jessa stood slowly, clearly trying not to freak out. “Where are you even going?”

“Up,” I said, jerking my chin toward the sloped backbone of the bridge. “I want the skyline.”

“You mean the place with no railing, no ledge, and wind that could snap your neck like a breadstick?” She looked me over like I’d lost my last marble. “Jesus, Viv. This isn’t like base jumping with gear. This is death if you twitch the wrong way.”

I didn’t answer.

Because she was right. And I didn’t care.

My palms were already stinging from gripping the narrow struts, but I pulled myself up higher anyway, scaling the exposed trusswork like it was a jungle gym.

The city dropped away beneath me, the water glittering like broken glass.

The sound of traffic on the bridge above felt distant—like another world. Like nothing could touch me here.

Jessa’s phone was still filming. She angled it up, catching me silhouetted against the electric spill of Charleston’s lights.

“Vivi, I swear to God,” she muttered. “You are not gonna die in a tank top. That’s an insult to dancers everywhere.”

“Then keep filming,” I called over my shoulder. “Might be the best footage you ever get.”

Below us, a car slowed. Then another.

A man got out, squinting up toward the bridge support.

A woman next to him pulled out her phone. “Are they climbing it?” she gasped. “Oh, my God.”

I kept going. Higher. Into the sharp belly of the sky.

The wind punched harder now, gusting in surges that made the bridge hum beneath my feet. I braced against the swaying steel, laughing like I had any business enjoying this.

Jessa climbed after me but stopped a few feet down, crouching low. “Vivi. Seriously. You’ve made your point, okay? He’s definitely watching. Half of Charleston is watching.”

That’s when I heard it.

The low thrum of rotors.

A news helicopter.

Jessa turned her head sharply, following the sound. “Shit.”

The spotlight came next—sweeping out from above like the eye of God, locking on us with blinding precision.

“God, Vivi,” she hissed. “We are so screwed.”

I froze for half a breath, squinting up at the floodlight, the wind roaring past me, my heartbeat matching its pace.

And then I grinned.

Good.

Let the whole city watch.

Let Elias watch.

Let him feel what it’s like when I’m the one slipping through his fingers.

From somewhere below, a siren started to wail. Police or Coast Guard or hell, maybe Homeland Security. Who knew? The wind carried the sound upward in eerie distortion.

Jessa was crouched now, clearly terrified. “We need to go, Vivi. Like now. I’m not kidding. They’ll arrest us. And if we fall …”

But I couldn’t climb down yet.

Not until he saw.

I turned toward the camera, standing tall—arms outstretched, hair whipping, Charleston glittering like a promise at my back.

And I smiled.

The kind of smile that said, Come get me, Cipher .