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1053 Words
The first alarm didn’t bother Salem.
The second made her pause.
By the third, she was already moving.
“Talk to me,” she said, crossing the IronWard command floor without breaking stride. Her voice cut clean through the rising tension—calm, precise, controlled.
A wall of monitors flickered ahead, lines of code cascading too fast for anyone without training to follow. Red flags pulsed across the system like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
“Unauthorized access attempt,” one of her analysts said, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Multiple entry points—this isn’t a brute force, it’s—”
“Layered,” Salem finished, stepping in behind him. Her eyes scanned the screen once, twice. “They’re mapping your response time.”
The analyst swallowed. “Mapping… us?”
“Yes.” Salem leaned forward, already reaching past him to take control. “Which means they’re not trying to get in.”
Her fingers moved—fast, deliberate, surgical.
“They’re trying to see who stops them.”
The room went quiet.
Salem rerouted two firewalls, collapsed a third, and let one access point stay open just long enough to bait the intrusion. The code shifted immediately—responsive, intelligent.
A flicker of something sharp sparked behind her eyes.
Interesting.
“Don’t block it,” she ordered.
“Ma’am?” another analyst asked, startled.
“If you block it, they reset,” Salem said. “I want them committed.”
She moved faster now, building a trap inside their own system—silent, invisible, inevitable.
The breach pushed deeper.
So did she.
For ten seconds, it was a dance.
For five, it was a fight.
On the last, Salem cut it off completely.
The screens stabilized.
Silence dropped like a weight.
“…It’s gone,” the analyst said.
Salem didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze stayed on the monitor, tracking the final ghost of code as it disappeared.
Then, quietly—
“No,” she said. “It left.”
A few heads turned.
“That wasn’t a failed breach,” Salem continued, straightening. “That was a test run.”
“For what?” someone asked.
She stepped back, expression unreadable.
“For us.”
⸻
“Tell me you’re not about to take another contract.”
Rhea’s voice came from the doorway before Salem even made it back to her office.
Salem didn’t look up as she dropped into her chair, already pulling up logs from the breach. “Good morning to you too.”
Rhea crossed the room, arms folded, sharp eyes already scanning the data on Salem’s screen. “You’ve been up for eighteen hours.”
“Seventeen,” Salem corrected.
“That’s not better.”
“It’s accurate.”
Rhea exhaled through her nose. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here I am,” Salem replied dryly, scrolling through the intrusion pattern. “Still better than everyone else.”
Rhea didn’t argue that part.
She leaned against the desk instead, gaze narrowing slightly. “What was it?”
“Not random,” Salem said. “Not sloppy. Whoever built that knew exactly what they were doing.”
“Corporate?”
“No.” Salem shook her head once. “Too intentional. They wanted engagement.”
Rhea went still for half a second. “So someone’s testing IronWard?”
Salem’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Looks like it.”
That should have been enough to hold the conversation.
It wasn’t.
Rhea pushed off the desk. “Good. Then you’ll love this.”
Salem finally looked up.
That tone meant trouble.
Rhea tossed a thin file onto the desk. It landed with a quiet slap.
“New contract.”
Salem didn’t touch it. “I’m not taking anything new until I figure out who just tried to poke my system.”
“You’re taking this one.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Rhea—”
“New Orleans,” Rhea cut in.
That got her attention.
Salem’s eyes flicked to the file.
She didn’t open it yet. “I don’t like your tone.”
“You won’t like the client either.”
“Then it’s a no.”
“They specifically requested you.”
That made Salem’s expression sharpen.
“Why?” she asked.
Rhea’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile. “Because their system is failing, and apparently no one else has been able to fix it.”
“Then they hired the wrong people first,” Salem said flatly.
“Probably,” Rhea agreed. “Doesn’t change the fact that they’re asking for you now.”
Salem leaned back in her chair, studying her.
“You’re not telling me something.”
Rhea held her gaze for a long second.
Then, casually—too casually—
“They’re not exactly… standard clients.”
Salem’s eyes narrowed. “Define standard.”
Rhea hesitated.
That was rare.
“Private territory,” she said finally. “Off-grid systems. Tight control over access.”
“Military?”
“No.”
“Government?”
“No.”
Salem tapped her fingers once against the desk. “Then what?”
Rhea tilted her head slightly.
“Wolves.”
Silence.
Salem stared at her.
Then she leaned forward, picked up the file, and flipped it open.
“Crescent Moon Pack,” she read aloud. “Fontenot leadership.”
Her expression didn’t change—but something in her posture did. Subtle. Sharp.
“You’ve worked with them before?” she asked.
“Once,” Rhea said. “Didn’t love it.”
“Define didn’t love it.”
“They don’t trust outsiders,” Rhea replied. “And they don’t pretend otherwise.”
Salem huffed softly. “Good. Saves time.”
Rhea watched her carefully. “There’s more.”
“I assumed.”
“Their system isn’t just failing,” Rhea continued. “It’s being breached. Repeatedly.”
Salem went still.
“Internal?” she asked.
“That’s their suspicion.”
A beat passed.
Then another.
Salem looked back at the screen behind her—the echo of the earlier intrusion still fresh in her mind.
Test run.
Mapping response.
Engagement.
Slowly, deliberately, she closed the file.
“When do I leave?” she asked.
Rhea didn’t smile—but she came close.
“Flight’s in three hours.”
- Writer
