Alissia POV
I take a seat across from him as he pulls out a sleek black laptop from his bag, setting it on the table. The way his fingers move, quick and precise, has me intrigued. He plugs in a few other pieces of tech—some device I can’t quite identify, maybe a small portable router, and then a USB drive. His focus sharpens as he types with speed, the quiet clicking of the keyboard blending with the low hum of the café.
“Here we go,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes darting between screens.
I lean forward, trying to get a glimpse of what he’s doing. His screen fills with lines of code, rapidly scrolling as he works. I don’t pretend to understand most of it, but I catch bits and pieces—IP addresses, security bypasses, encrypted files. His fingers fly over the keyboard with purpose
