Fated in New Orleans

9

The control room hummed again — this time with focus instead of fatigue. The lights were dimmed, the air sharp with the hum of monitors and the faint scent of burnt coffee.

Salem sat cross-legged in front of her console, hands flying across the keyboard as lines of code scrolled so fast it made Rhea dizzy. River stood behind them, arms crossed, watching the traces unfold on the screen like ghostly footprints.

“Signal’s dirty,” Salem muttered, narrowing her eyes. “Dax masked the route with a relay loop through three old subnets — one of them from our own security logs.”

Rhea frowned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning the bastard’s smarter than he looks.” She tapped a few more keys, pulling up a map overlay. “He rerouted the data through an abandoned service node about five clicks north. That’s why we didn’t catch it in the initial sweep.”

River leaned over her shoulder, his voice calm but edged. “Can you follow it?”

“Already am.” Salem’s tone was clipped, focused. “If I can isolate the packet bursts, I’ll know where he transmitted from last.”

Rhea perched on the edge of the desk beside her, sipping her drink as she watched the lines update in real time. The silence stretched — tense but steady — until Salem’s jaw ticked, frustration breaking through.

“Why,” she muttered, “do our employees always bring me the worst problems? Clients melting down, suppliers double-billing, logistics on fire — and now one of ‘em’s tryin’ to sell me off to a damn enemy.”

Rhea didn’t even look up from her screen. “Because you’re scarier.”

That earned her a sharp side-eye. “Excuse me?”

Rhea smirked, shrugging. “You heard me. You’ve got that look that says, ‘I’ll ruin your career and sleep fine after.’ People respond to that.”

Salem scoffed under her breath. “I’m efficient. That’s not the same thing as scary.”

River’s voice came low from behind them. “It’s a little scary.”

Both women turned in unison.

He lifted a shoulder, completely unbothered. “In a good way.”

Rhea grinned. “See? Even he agrees.”

Salem huffed, typing faster. “Wonderful. I terrify people and attract chaos. Perfect résumé summary.”

Rhea leaned closer with a grin. “You forgot ‘runs on caffeine and vengeance.’”

“Add that to my business card,” Salem muttered — but a small smile tugged at her mouth anyway.

Then a new alert flashed across the screen — red pulse, incoming data spike.

Salem straightened, every trace of humor gone. “There. Found it.”

River stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the desk as the coordinates appeared on the map.

“Where?” he asked.

“An old relay tower outside the perimeter,” she said quietly. “Half a mile past the swamp line. He used it to bounce his messages — and whoever’s on the other end just pinged him back.”

Rhea swore softly. “So they know he’s been burned.”

Salem nodded. “And they’re about to clean up their mess.”

River’s voice hardened. “Not before we do.”

He turned toward the door, Miles’s name already halfway out of his mouth when Salem stopped him.

“Wait.” Her tone was firm, eyes still on the flickering signal. “Give me five minutes. If they send another pulse, I can trace it back to the receiver — not just the relay.”

River paused, studying her — the intensity in her face, the quick rhythm of her hands over the keys.

“Five minutes,” he said finally.

She nodded once, focused again. “Good. Let’s catch our ghost.”

“Come on… come on…” Salem muttered, eyes flicking between two screens. The signal trail was tightening, bouncing less and less with each pass until the pattern finally steadied. A final keystroke locked the trace.

“There,” she breathed. “Receiver’s running off a short-range uplink, not a satellite feed.”

Rhea leaned closer. “Meaning?”

“Meaning whoever’s pulling the data isn’t far.” Salem’s fingers flew over the console. “I’m talking a few hundred yards at most.”

River straightened from where he’d been standing. “He’s still on-site?”

Before Salem could answer, her system flashed a proximity alert — a sharp, shrill ping that made Rhea wince. Salem’s head snapped toward the feed, pupils narrowing.

“Oh, hell no,” she whispered.

“What?” River demanded.

Salem swiveled her monitor toward him. The security overlay showed a lone figure on the far edge of the property — heat signature, moving fast, just inside the perimeter fence.

“Your boy Dax just tripped our motion grid,” she said tightly. “He’s not running away. He’s coming straight for this building.”

Rhea’s coffee cup froze halfway to her lips. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“I don’t kid when someone’s trying to break into my workspace,” Salem snapped, already typing in a lockdown code. “He’s twenty meters out and closing. Either he’s desperate or stupid—”

“—or both,” River finished, his voice suddenly low and dangerous.

He turned toward the door, already in motion, but Salem stood too. “Don’t you dare go out there alone,” she warned. “He’s baiting you.”

River stopped at the threshold, eyes flicking between her and the live feed. “Then what do you suggest?”

Salem tapped the screen again, pulling up the auxiliary cameras. “We make him think we’re sitting ducks, while Rhea routes the secondary lockdown. I can track his exact entry vector if he crosses the east threshold.”

Rhea cracked her knuckles. “Already on it.”

The tension in the room thickened — humming like the live current in the walls.

Miles’ voice came suddenly over comms, rough with static. “River, we just picked up movement on the south side. You seeing that?”

“Yeah,” River replied, eyes on the feed. “Dax is here. Stay sharp.”

Salem didn’t look away from the screen, tone clipped but steady. “He’s not sneaking in — he’s broadcasting.”

Rhea frowned. “Broadcasting?”

Salem’s fingers froze as another pulse of data lit up the feed. “He’s sending one last transmission.”

River’s jaw tensed. “To who?”

Salem looked up, her expression hardening. “Whoever told him I was the problem.”

The proximity alert blared again — louder this time, insistent — as Dax’s heat signature moved into the outer corridor.

Salem’s voice dropped low, controlled. “He’s here.”

Rhea exhaled. “Well,” she muttered, “guess we don’t have to look far for trouble.”

River moved to the door, shoulders squared, voice low and calm. “Lock down everything except this hall. If he wants in…” He glanced at Salem, that faint edge of challenge in his eyes. “…let’s make sure he regrets it.”

Salem smirked, rolling her shoulders as she keyed in a final override. “Finally,” she said, voice soft and dangerous, “something I actually like dealing with.”