I stood in the computer room, leaning against the wall while my friend typed quickly on the keyboard. The room was quiet except for the soft clicking of his fingers and the low hum of the computers around us.
My body still felt sore from the fight, and every time I moved too fast, I felt a sharp sting run through my ribs. But I ignored it. I had more important things on my mind.
My friend glanced back at me. “Let me guess,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re here to ask if I can track someone again.”
I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah… something like that.”
“If it’s the mysterious rider again,” he said, turning back to the computer, “then forget it, man. I told you last time, it’s impossible. That person rides like they came out of a movie. There’s no camera that can trac
