Page 12 of Knight

No forced entry. No hacking attempts.

Just my systems rolling out the digital fucking welcome mat to someone who shouldn't even know my name, let alone how to get into my fucking building.

My fingers hit the keyboard. Every access code gets changed, every protocol rewritten. The sheer audacity of someone having unauthorized access to my systems sets my teeth on edge. The same cold calculation that keeps me alive in this business now channels into defensive coding. By the time I'm done, getting in here will require divine intervention.

Or Bishop, but he's arguably more difficult to deal with.

I run a security sweep, checking every system, every camera feed, every sensor. If there's another breach waiting to happen, I'll find it. The feeds show nothing but empty halls and locked doors. But that's not good enough. Not anymore. The last people who got past my security died trying to finish what they started. I had to replace three keyboards after that incident, which annoyed me. Blood ruins circuit boards. Does no one understand how hard it is to find the perfect keyboards?

Lines of code scroll past as I dive deeper into my security protocols. If someone planted something in my system, I'll fucking rip it out line by line. The soft hum of cooling fans and the click of keys fill the silence as I tear apart my own security system looking for compromises. Each layer gets stripped down, examined, then rebuilt stronger than before.

But there’snothingto find.

Clean logs. Clean code. Clean access.

That’s the part that pisses me off the most. Someone didn't hack their way in here. Theywalkedin with valid credentials that shouldn't exist outside my own protocols. And that is the kind of breach that means someone out there has information they shouldn't have. The last person who got that close learned why the Chambers family reputation isn't just about Rook's body count.

I initiate a full system reset. If anyone else tries to get in here, I want to know about it before they even have a chance tobreathe on my damn walls. The familiar patterns of defensive coding help focus my rage.

Some people meditate. I fortify.

Rook would find this hilarious. His antisocial brother being forced to deal with an actual person in his space. Bishop would probably start another lecture about my lifestyle choices.

Neither of them understand thatthisis the reason why I choose machines over people. Computers don't lie. They don't manipulate. They don't show up uninvited with security codes they shouldn't fucking have.

The system reset finishes, each layer of security settling back into place like digital fortress walls. Movement draws my attention like a shark to blood, and right now she's in my waters and I’m hungry.

I check the bathroom feed—she hasn't moved.

Smart girl.

I stand, adjusting to the weight of the Glock with the kind of unconscious ease that comes from necessity rather than choice. In my line of work, being just a hacker is a good way to end up dead. The gun is as necessary as my keyboard. Both reliable, and deadly when used right.

The bathroom door opens soundlessly. Well-maintained, like everything in my space, even if its current ‘lived in by squatters’ look suggests otherwise. Light spills across her tear-stained face. Fear radiates off her in waves.

Good. Sheshouldbe scared. Not because I'll hurt her—I save that for people who actually deserve it, and I don’t know if she comes under that list yet—but because she has no idea what she's stumbled into.

"Who are you?" I keep my voice as cold as my systems. The same tone that makes my brothers joke about myrobot modenow serves a darker purpose. "And don't bother lying. You're already in deep enough shit."

She stares up at me, trembling. "I ... Knight invited me. He said he could help me find Michael."

"Knightinvited you?" The words come out sharp enough to cut. I shift my weight slightly, letting her see the predator rather than the programmer. Contrary to popular belief, I’m just as deadly as my brothers, I’m simply not as obvious about it. "Try again."

Her eyes dart to my hip, looking for the gun. She reminds me of prey watching a predator closing in.

"Please, I'm telling the truth. Knight told me to come here. He's been helping me?—"

"Wrong answer." I move closer. She shrinks back against the radiator. "Let's try this again. Who are you, and how did you get my codes?"

"Itoldyou!" Tears spill down her cheeks. "Knight sent them tonight. He said he found something about Michael's case?—"

"Michael?" I cut her off, letting ice fill my voice. "Who the fuck is Michael? And why should I care?"

I draw the Glock. The barrel presses against her forehead, cold metal meeting warm skin. She stops breathing, face draining of color.

"Last chance. Why are you here?"

"My brother!" she sobs. "I swear. Michael is my brother. He disappeared. Knight was helping me find him. Please, I swear I'm telling the truth!"

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