Page 24 of Knight

"Hehelpedme. When no one else understood, he was?—”

"Did he tell you not to speak to anyone else? It was dangerous, right? You didn’t want to attract attention that would make it harder for him to investigate. Talking to other people would mean he’d have to cut contact, and you didn’t want that, did you? He was your only chance to find your brother, but if the authorities knew he existed?—”

“He didn’t mean?—”

He snorts. “He kept you isolated. He ensured he was your only support. Your only connection to hope."

"No!"

"Every time you considered moving on, he'd dangle new possibilities. He’d find a new hint that Michael was alive. And it kept you coming back night after night, desperate for answers only he could provide."

"That's not?—"

"And then, after weeks of vague promises, he discovers new information." His fingers drum faster against the chair. "Information that could only be sharedhere. In the middle of the night. Inmyapartment."

"Yourapartment?" The words emerge strangled. "This isKnight'splace."

"This ismyspace.Mysecurity system." He rises, pacing the length of the room. "Someone manipulated you into walking straight into a trap, and you'restilldefending them."

"He's trying to help me find Michael!"

"He doesn’t fucking exist." He spins to face me. "An engineered persona designed to earn your trust. To learn your patterns. To make sure you'd follow his instructions without question when the time came. They will have spent weeks before contacting you learning everything there was to know. Your vulnerabilities. What would make you respond. What would make you feel. And then they ensured they were available whenever you felt most alone." He watches me with unsettling intensity. "Then used that trust to deliver you here … to me. With your fucking laptop."

"Stop it!" The words come out as a shriek.

"Why? Because you're starting to see the pattern?" His eyes never leave mine. "Three weeks of building your dependence, making you rely on them. Learning exactly how to keep you hoping. Making himself invaluable. If I had to make a guess, I’d say everything was programmed into a computer, and you’ve been talking tothat. There’s no person, just a program designed to keep you where they want you. That’s why they were always there when you were online. They made the perfect program to keep you focused."

I squeeze my eyes shut but I can't escape his voice.

"Someone spent weeks preparing you for exactly this moment." His voice softens but the words cut deeper. "Makingsure you'd walk into this apartment believing completely in a person who doesn't exist."

"Hehasto exist." I can’t hide the desperate need for it to be true from my voice, but doubt hovers at the edges of my conviction. "He is the only one who believed me about Michael."

"Think about what you're defending." His voice stays neutral but his words slice through my defenses. "Someone who appeared the moment you were at your most desperate. Who said exactly what you needed to hear. Who kept you hoping with promises that never materialized."

"No." But the denial sounds weak even to me.

"He told you what you needed to hear." He moves closer, and I can't look away from the certainty in his eyes. "But the question is … why did someone go to so much trouble to deliver you tome?"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Knight

She fallssilent after my question, which is probably for the best since I don’t have an answer to it anyway. The painkillers should be kicking in by now. Dissolved medication works faster than pills, though it tastes like shit. At least she managed to drink it all, despite not wanting to.

What Idoknow is that someone got access to my codes somehow, created an entire digital persona around my name, and spent weeks grooming this woman to walk straight into my apartment. The level of planning involved is … concerning. The fact that it worked is fucking infuriating.Almostas infuriating as having to play nurse to someone I had in handcuffs an hour ago. I don’t need the distraction from figuring outwhysomeone wanted her in my apartment.

But her wrists are a mess, and I can’t ignore that. The cuffs have cut deep. I’m not sure if they’re deep enough to leave scars, but definitely enough to need more than a Band-aid. The sight bothers me more than it should.

Most security breaches don’t leave visible evidence. But then, most of them don’t also come in the form of a person. Usually when someone breaches my security, I don't have to worry about their medical care afterward. Files don't bleed and code doesn'tleave scars. This one is going to require a different kind of damage control.

“I need to clean your wrists. Unless you want to risk infection.”

She looks down at her hands like she’s forgotten they exist. Her movements are slower now, the edge of panic dulling as the medication starts to do its work.

“I can’t?—”

“Move properly. Yes, I know.” I stand. “Stay put.”

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