3
893 Words
Inside, the shift in atmosphere was immediate.
Eyes tracked her.
Pack.
Not subtle. Not hidden.
Evaluating.
Judging.
Salem ignored all of it.
Her attention was already on the layout—entry points, sightlines, camera placements. What was there. What wasn’t.
What had failed.
“This is your primary security hub?” she asked, glancing toward a bank of monitors.
“Yes,” River said.
She walked straight past it.
“That’s your first problem.”
Miles barked out a laugh. “Didn’t even hesitate.”
“You invited me here to fix it,” Salem said. “Or do you just enjoy wasting time?”
River stepped closer—not crowding her, but close enough that she could feel the shift in the air.
“Explain.”
She turned toward him, crossing her arms. “Your system is reactive.”
“And?” Miles challenged.
“And that means whoever’s hitting you is already ahead,” she replied. “You’re waiting for breaches instead of predicting them.”
River’s gaze sharpened. “You think we haven’t considered that?”
“I think,” Salem said evenly, “if you had solved it, I wouldn’t be here.”
Silence.
Tense.
Charged.
Miles pushed off the bike rack and closed the distance again, slower this time. More deliberate.
“You always this direct?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Even when it gets you in trouble?”
Salem tilted her head slightly. “I don’t get into trouble.”
Miles’ grin turned sharper. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“Everything sounds like a challenge to you,” she said.
“Only the interesting things.”
Their proximity shifted—just a fraction closer.
Not touching.
But close enough that Salem was suddenly very aware of him.
Of both of them.
River hadn’t moved far—but his presence was still there, steady and constant at her side.
Balanced.
Opposite.
Together.
It was… distracting.
She didn’t like that.
“So,” Salem said, stepping past them both and forcing space back into the room, “show me where the last breach happened.”
Miles watched her go, eyes narrowing slightly—not in irritation, but something more focused.
“She didn’t even blink,” he muttered.
River’s gaze followed Salem as she moved toward the system.
“No,” he said quietly.
He didn’t miss the way her shoulders had tightened for half a second.
Or the way her breathing had shifted when they got too close.
“She felt it.”
Miles glanced at him. “You did too.”
River didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
⸻
Salem crouched in front of the terminal, already pulling up logs.
The code loaded fast.
Too fast.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Who else has access to this system?” she asked.
“Inner circle,” River replied.
“Names.”
Miles crossed his arms. “You’re assuming it’s one of us.”
“I’m assuming,” Salem said without looking up, “that no one gets past this level of security without help.”
River and Miles exchanged a look.
Short.
Meaningful.
Then River spoke. “You’ll have full access.”
Salem finally glanced back at them.
“That’s either trust,” she said, “or desperation.”
Miles’ mouth curved. “Maybe both.”
Her gaze lingered for a second too long.
Then she turned back to the screen.
“Good,” she said. “Because if I’m right…”
Her fingers started moving again—fast, precise.
“…you don’t just have a breach.”
The room seemed to tighten around her words.
“You have a traitor.”
Silence dropped again.
Heavier this time.
More dangerous.
And behind her—
She could feel them.
Watching.
Not like before.
Closer.
Sharper.
Like the distance between them wasn’t just physical anymore.
Salem ignored it.
Focused on the code.
On the problem.
On anything that wasn’t the way her pulse had picked up for no logical reason.
Because whatever this was—
It wasn’t part of the job.
And Salem Boudreaux didn’t make mistakes like that.
By the time the compound quieted, Salem was still awake.
Of course she was.
The rest of the pack had filtered out hours ago—boots fading, engines dying down, voices dropping into low murmurs before disappearing entirely. Night settled heavy over the place, thick and humid, pressing in through the open windows.
Inside the security room, the only light came from the monitors.
And Salem.
She leaned over the console, one hand braced on the desk, the other flying across the keyboard. Code streamed down the screens in clean, controlled lines—until it didn’t.
There.
A flicker.
Subtle.
Buried.
Her eyes narrowed. “Got you…”
A soft buzz broke her focus.
Salem exhaled, straightening just enough to grab her phone off the desk.
Rhea:
Ordered you food. Should be there soon.
Eat something, Sal.
And drink water. Or coffee. I know you.
Salem snorted quietly.
Salem:
I’m working.
The reply came instantly.
Rhea:
You’re always working.
Eat anyway.
Salem shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her mouth despite herself.
Salem:
Bossy.
Rhea:
Alive.
The smile faded—but something softer stayed behind.
Salem set the phone down and reached for her coffee instead, taking a slow sip before diving back into the system.
- Writer
