Page 46 of Chain Me

I've seen this pattern before. My fingers itch for a keyboard, for access to system logs that would confirm what my instincts are already telling me.

The cameras in the east wing went dark first, followed by the security panels and then the main grid. It's not the random cascade of a genuine power failure. It's deliberate. Orchestrated.

“Wait.” I plant my feet, forcing Erik to stop.

His expression hardens. “We don't have time for?—”

“This isn't random,” I say, meeting his gaze directly. “I've seen this signature before. It's a specific type of systems breach.”

Erik's eyes narrow, his jaw tensing as he processes my words. I watch the conflict play across his face—the professional soldier weighing my expertise against his training and protocols. His hand moves instinctively toward his weapon, but his eyes stay locked on mine, assessing, calculating.

“Explain,” he finally says, voice taut with restraint.

“The pattern of failure. The timing between systems going down. It's methodical.” I lower my voice. “Someone's creating a rolling blackout to mask their approach. They're using the Blackwater Protocol—it's a specialized infiltration technique.”

Something shifts in Erik's expression. The conflict doesn't disappear, but it transforms into something more complex. He's weighing my value as an asset against the risk of trusting me.

“How would you know that?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

I take a deep breath and meet Erik's intense gaze. “I can help,” I say, fully aware of what I'm asking for—access to systems that have been forbidden to me since the moment I was brought here. “This is a sophisticated breach. I've seen it before.”

Erik's jaw tightens, the muscles there flexing as he weighs his options. I hold my breath as he considers my proposal—the security professional battling with the man who's shared his bed, his past, pieces of himself.

Long seconds pass before he nods sharply. “Security office. Now.”

Something shifts between us with those three words—a new level of trust neither of us expected. The air feels different, charged with something beyond the danger surrounding us.

“If you're playing me...” he starts, his voice low with warning.

I cut him off immediately. “I'm not. This is my expertise, Erik. Let me help you.” My words are firm and confident. This is my territory, not his.

He leads me through a series of corridors I've never been allowed to access before. When the security office door slides open, it feels like entering a forbidden temple—all the technology I've been denied for weeks laid out before me. Multiple screens line the walls, servers hum in the background, and most importantly, there's a keyboard at the main station.

My fingers hover over the keys, a moment of hesitation washing over me. This could be my chance—to send a message out, to alert someone, to escape. No one would understand these systems better than me.

But I look up at Erik and see the trust in his eyes that's cost him so much to give. The vulnerability beneath the soldier's exterior.

I begin typing, the familiar click of keys under my fingertips like coming home. “They're using a sophisticated multi-layer attack,” I explain, hands flying across the keyboard. “See how they've created cascading failures to mask the actual breach point? Classic misdirection.”

Erik stands to guard behind me. His presence is solid and reassuring. Somehow, his proximity makes me work faster, better—as if his confidence in me has unlocked something.

Then I see it—familiar strings of code scrolling across the diagnostic screen.

“This is impossible,” I whisper, fingers freezing over the keys.

“What is it?” Erik's voice is close to my ear, his breath warm on my neck.

“They're using a modified version of my encryption protocol—something I designed. Someone stole my work.” The realization hits me like a physical blow. My creation, my intellectual property, turned against us.

The violation feels personal, igniting determination that burns away any remaining hesitation. The person behind this attack has just made it personal.

The security office is barely large enough for a single person, let alone two. Erik stands behind me, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. The proximity makes it hard to focus on the code dancing across the screen, especially with the weight of what's happening around us.

I type furiously, following the digital footprints of whoever stole my work. Erik leans forward to examine the intrusion pattern, his broad chest pressing against my back. The solid wall of him should feel threatening, but instead, it grounds me.

“There,” he says, his voice low against my ear. His hand covers mine on the mouse, guiding the cursor to a suspicious sequence. “Is that what you meant?”

It surprises me that Erik identified the suspicious code, but all I can focus on is how my skin erupts in goosebumps at his touch. I nod, swallowing hard. “Yes. That's the signature. How did you identify it?” His hand lingers on mine a moment longer than necessary before withdrawing.

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