Page 122 of Knight

She tilts her head up, staring directly at the camera. She knows the elevator won’t work without access codes. And she knows I’m probably watching.

Her thumb swipes across the screen, then she holds the phone up toward the lens. Through the camera, I recognize her banking app. And more importantly the ten thousand dollar deposit.

She noticed then. I expected she would.

"Knight?" Her voice filters through the speaker, angry and sharp. "What the hell is this?"

She lifts the phone again for emphasis, shaking it at the camera.

"I’m not leaving until you open the door."

My hand hovers over the control panel, the button to unlock the door just inches away. But I don’t press it. Instead, I watch as she steps back, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. She paces the lobby.

"Is this some kind of apology? Apayoff?" She stops mid-stride and glares at the camera. "You think you can just throw money at me and walk away? That’s not how this works."

Her words echo in the silence, each one hitting harder than the last.

"Fine!" Her voice drops, softer but no less cutting. "Have it your way."

She turns and walks out, the door closing behind her, and the feed returns to its static emptiness.

The hours following her visit are restless. I cycle through my tasks with less focus, replaying the footage in my mind. The way she looked at the camera, like she was daring me to respond. Like she was waiting for something. But the only thing I do is work. Work and wait, hoping the routine will dull the edges of … whatever the fuck this is.

Thesecondvisit comes a week later.

The cameras catch her as she enters the building again, her phone clutched tightly in one hand. My stomach flips as I zoom in on the screen she’s holding. It’s her banking app again. I’ve added more money to it, and the anger on her face says she’s not happy about it.

"Whatever this is, it needs to stop." Her voice is icy.

I stay silent, watching as she presses her forehead against the door to the elevator. She’s not pacing this time. She’s still, holding her phone like it’s some kind of proof she doesn’t know what to do with.

"Why are you doing this?" she finally asks, quieter now, her voice strained. "Is it guilt? Pity? What do you think this fixes?"

Her shoulders sag, and she shakes her head. When she finally leaves, the way she grips her phone like it’s a lifeline makes my chest tighten. The guilt clings to me long after the lobby is empty again.

Michael’s training becomes my only escape. His progress is good, his natural aptitude for coding getting better with each session. He’s quick to adapt, even quicker to question. The lessons fill the gaps between the silence, but they don’t erase it. Nothing does.

Then Eva arrives again. But this time it’s different.

It’s two days after the second. She doesn’t even come inside the building. Instead, she sits on the steps just outside, a book in her lap. The cameras catch her flipping through the pages, though her eyes rarely leave the street in front of her.

She’s waiting. Not for the door to open, but for me to act. It’s a silent dare, one I’m too much of a fucking coward to meet. Hours pass, the shadows growing longer as the sun dips below the horizon. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even glance at the camera. But I know she’s aware of it.

When she finally stands, it’s with the same quiet grace she always carries, but she seems tired. The guilt twists tighter, making it hard to breathe, so I turn away from the monitors, because I can’t watch her leave again.

My phone buzzes, a notification from Michael pulling me back to the present.

"The firewall’s active," I say as his workspace appears on my screen. "Show me how you’d breach it."

He hesitates for a moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Using the standard protocols?"

"Since when do I teach standard anything?" I lift one eyebrow.

Michael almost smiles at that.Almost.His code flows across my screen. Elegant solutions that would make Victor proud.Sometimes I wonder if I’m just creating another target. Another person who knows too much. But knowledge is protection, and he needs to understand how they used him, and turned his talent into a weapon.

"Your style is getting better." I highlight a section of his work. "But you're still thinking like someone who follows rules."

"Isn't that the point of security protocols?" He glances up, fingers pausing over the keyboard.

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