Fated in New Orleans

3

The control room had gone quiet hours ago.

Only the low hum of the servers filled the space now, blending with the faint chirp of crickets beyond the open window.

Rhea had dozed off on the narrow couch in the corner, one arm draped over her eyes, the other still clutching a half-empty coffee cup. Her laptop sat open on her lap, the screen dimming every few minutes before Salem reached over to tap it back awake without looking.

Salem sat cross-legged on the floor, cables snaking around her boots, the glow from her monitors throwing faint blue across her face. She’d stripped down to a tank top, hair tied messily out of her way, and there was a streak of grease on her cheek that she hadn’t noticed — or didn’t care to.

The door creaked open behind her.

“You ever sleep?” Miles’s voice broke the quiet, low and teasing.

“Occasionally,” she said without turning around. “Usually when the servers stop crying.”

River followed him in, slower, quieter — a habit of observation that seemed second nature. He didn’t fill the silence; he studied it.

“You’ve been at it for six hours,” he said, stepping closer.

“Five and a half,” she corrected, typing fast. “System’s rebuilding the firewall layers now. Whoever was inside your network had admin-level clearance. That means someone here either got sloppy or got played.”

Miles leaned against the counter, watching the data scroll across her screen. “You thinkin’ inside job?”

“I’m thinkin’ I don’t jump to conclusions until the logs stop lying.”

He chuckled. “You’re somethin’ else, Boudreaux.”

She smirked faintly. “You keep sayin’ that like it’s news.”

Behind them, Rhea mumbled in her sleep.

“Mmm… the twins… and Beau…” Her voice was slurred, dreamy. “Why they gotta be so hot…”

Miles blinked, turning toward the couch. “Did she just—?”

“Yep,” Salem said, not missing a keystroke.

Rhea shifted again, mumbling, “Especially the tall one with the arms—good Lord.”

Salem snorted under her breath. “Guess we know where her brain goes when she finally gets a nap.”

Miles tried — and failed — not to grin. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

River’s expression barely moved, but there was a flicker of humor in his eyes. “Depends which twin she meant.”

“Oh, she meant both,” Salem muttered, lips twitching.

Rhea sighed in her sleep, completely unaware of the audience. “Don’t fight, boys… there’s enough of me to go around…”

That did it — Miles barked out a laugh, clapping a hand over his mouth when Salem shot him a warning look. “You wake her, you deal with her,” she said dryly.

River’s voice was calm, low. “Let her sleep. She’s earned it.”

Salem’s fingers slowed over the keyboard, her eyes lifting briefly toward him. For a moment, the hum of the servers and the distant bayou night were the only sounds between them.

“You always that considerate with your people?” she asked quietly.

“Only when they deserve it.”

There was something in the way he said it — steady, grounded, the kind of calm that carried weight. Salem met his gaze for half a heartbeat longer than she should’ve before looking back to her screen.

Miles caught it and smirked, but wisely said nothing.

“So,” he said instead, leaning closer to her setup, “what’s next?”

Salem pointed at a string of code. “Next, I trace this back through the shadow node. If we’re lucky, I’ll get a signature.”

“And if we’re not?” River asked.

“Then I crash whoever’s sitting on the other end hard enough they think twice about coming back.”

Miles grinned. “Remind me again who’s supposed to be the Alpha in this room?”

Salem gave him a side-eye glare that could’ve cut glass. “The one who pays my invoice.”

That earned a low laugh from River, and it tugged something loose in the heavy quiet.

For a long while, the three of them just existed there — the glow of monitors painting the room in cold light, the steady rhythm of typing and breathing filling the gaps.

Every so often, River’s gaze would drift back to her — the way she worked like a storm barely held in human form, all precision and quiet fury. She didn’t ask permission, didn’t hesitate, didn’t defer. It was… unusual.

Salem could feel it too. That weight of being watched — not like a threat, but a study. Normally, that kind of attention would’ve grated. From him, it didn’t.

She finally said, without looking up, “If you’re gonna stand there starin’ like a gargoyle, you might as well hand me that drive.”

River reached over, picking up the small external drive beside her and kneeling to pass it over. Their fingers brushed — just barely — but enough for her pulse to stutter for half a second before she masked it.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

He didn’t move away. “You’re good at this.”

“That’s why you called me.”

“I meant,” he said quietly, “you don’t just fix systems. You read people. Like code.”

She hesitated. “Maybe people are just easier to break.”

Something flickered in his expression — understanding, maybe recognition. “Or fix,” he said softly.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke.

Then Rhea mumbled again, breaking the spell. “If any of y’all touch my coffee, I swear I’ll bite.”

Miles nearly lost it, snorting into his sleeve.

Salem exhaled, shaking her head. “That’s my cue to call it a night before she starts dream-fightin’ the furniture.”

River straightened slowly. “You should get some rest too.”

“I rest when the system’s stable,” she said, already refocusing on the screen.

Miles gave her a lazy salute. “Suit yourself, cher. But if you pass out on the floor, I’m blamin’ him for not makin’ you stop.”

River shot him a look that sent Miles chuckling his way out the door.

When the laughter faded, Salem was still typing, the glow from the screen catching the faint smear of grease across her cheek. River lingered a second longer in the doorway, watching her work.

“You’ll burn out if you keep running like that,” he said quietly.

She didn’t look up. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

His voice softened. “Then maybe don’t make it a habit.”

That made her glance up, surprised at the warmth in his tone. For once, she didn’t have a quick retort.

He nodded toward Rhea, still sprawled and snoring softly. “We’ll keep the perimeter tight. You finish what you need.”

She held his gaze. “Don’t hover, Alpha. I bite.”

He smiled, just enough for her to notice. “So do I.”

Then he turned and left, the door closing quietly behind him.

Salem stared at the screen for another minute, rubbing her eyes. Rhea mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over.

Salem glanced her way, shaking her head with a quiet laugh. “You’ve got no filter, cher.”

But her smile lingered. And for the first time since she’d arrived, she didn’t feel completely on edge.

Outside, somewhere down the hall, she could still hear River’s voice, calm as ever, giving orders to his men.

It shouldn’t have been comforting.

But somehow, it was.