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Prologue

Three years, seven months, two weeks, and two days ago, an old man in an overly decorated uniform had marched unannounced into Wren’s loft apartment.

Caught mid-step in her small kitchen, she’d blinked at him, unable to believe he’d simply strolled in.

Her voice had lodged in her throat, and her skin itched.

A quick scan of her home for a weapon listed a butter knife, a still-hot kettle, and a dish towel.

Not much she could defend herself with. And in her pajama pants, baggy, soda-stained T-shirt, her hair mussed, bloodshot eyes, and lack of sleep, she wouldn’t offer up much of a struggle.

She was on the tail end of a three-day coding project—without breaks, as usual.

She clutched a bag of stale popcorn to her chest with her forty-seventh cup of pseudo-coffee in hand. “What the hell?” she managed to say like an imbecile.

“Ms. Turner, Earth Armed Forces needs you.” He crossed to her like she’d invited him in for tea.

She took note of his features. If she survived this, she wanted to remember every detail, from his buzz cut to the scar just below his jaw.

His nose was crooked, his lips thin, and his chin had a tiny dimple mid-center.

But what blinded her was the sheer number of badges marking him as high-ranking, but anyone could fake an E.A.F. uniform.

“Get out,” she snapped, stomping to the door, then tried to open it while juggling the bag and hot coffee. “Wait.” She set the cup on the nearest surface and faced him, finding he hadn’t moved. “How did you get in?”

He waved a dismissive hand like her question didn’t matter. “We need you to breach Pytheas Exploration’s systems, and we’re willing to pay handsomely for your services.”

Her ears perked up at earning a little on the side.

Any incoming tokens were squirreled away for her parents.

Well, for Dad, to be honest. He lived for his welding job, loving the challenge of building bigger or faster ships for Everlast Shipwrights.

She’d helped him on weekends, valuing the quiet time just working on a task…

alone. He’d taught her everything he knew about welding—a fallback career she had no plans to pursue.

If he won the global lottery, he wouldn’t quit his job.

Still, while he recovered from his last accident, he didn’t earn as much.

Every token she and her brothers could spare went toward keeping her parents housed and fed.

“Why me?” She gestured to the intruder’s dark gray uniform. “You have agents with my skill set.”

He arched a brow at her while meandering around her dust-covered living room-cum-office-cum-kitchen. “How humble of you to say.” He smiled, all oily and sickly sweet. She shrugged back a shudder, her instincts clamoring for attention. “We’re told you’re the best.”

“I doubt that.” She waved her popcorn at the door. “See yourself out.”

“P.E. is abandoning colonies, leaving these people to starve to death. Women, children…” He peeked at her, his beady gaze assessing. “We need to know where and why. Get me that info, and your father won’t have to work again. Or would you prefer he lose an arm next time?”

He tossed a chip at her. She caught it mid-air then gaped at the flashing number. For that amount, she could ignore her screaming instincts… Just this once.

“P.E. will be tough to crack.” She shuffled on her feet, the popcorn bag squeaking in dismay. The bigger the corporates, the harder it was to break into their databases. They hired the best to protect them. Could she do this? “Let me do a little digging.”

At the first sign of any duplicity, she could bolt, retracting any evidence of her presence.

He clapped his palms together for a gleeful rub. “Excellent.”

“Next time, make an appointment…” She waited for him to supply his name.

He didn’t. And for a man of his age and girth, he made no sound when he headed for the exit.

“Wait,” she said, throwing out her hand still holding the popcorn. A few kernels spilled out. “How do I get in touch—”

“I’ll find you.”

She gawked at the closed door, her mind reeling. No, he hadn’t just said that. This was insane… Madness.

“Don’t fall for this, Wren. It’s too good to be true.” She stared at the tokens he’d tossed at her. “Shit…”

She slipped the chip into her pocket then shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth, chewing as she grabbed her cup and settled at her desk. It wouldn’t hurt to do some research. Maybe only on what was public knowledge?

She huffed. How would that reveal anything other than that they had an excellent media department? No, she could risk a deeper delve, starting with P.E.’s import and export manifests. Not so public but not restricted information, either.

If anything sparked her interest, she could then decide whether she should agree to this bizarre request. She coughed when a kernel stuck to the back of her throat.

A quick gulp of coffee helped, then with deft fingers, she reached out to her contacts.

With any luck, she’d know who her intruder was by sunup.