Page 60 of Blood Debt

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I cross to the desk. The laptop clicks open. The screen glows to life.

I insert the drive.

It whirs once—barely audible—and then begins.

Lines of code flicker. Files begin to duplicate, folder by folder. Financial documents. Shipment logs. Names I recognize. Others I don’t.

Cristofano shifts on the couch.

I freeze.

My heartbeat slams hard in my chest. The upload bar crawls past 86%.

His breathing catches, then steadies again. He’s still asleep.

I keep my hands folded at my stomach, nails digging into my skin. One minute more. Just one.

The bar reaches 100%. The window disappears.

Done.

I remove the flash drive and slide it back into my waistband pocket. The warmth of it against my skin is almost too much.

Now I just need a way to send it.

My eyes flick to the door.

I start toward it.

Then—

He coughs.

I stop.

My breath halts in my throat. I glance over my shoulder. He stirs slightly, one leg shifting beneath the blanket. His hair’s a mess. His chest rises, then falls again.

Still half-asleep.

I walk back to him.

I reach down and pull the edge of the blanket up over him again, covering the sharp lines of his bare torso, the trail of muscle that disappears beneath the sheet.

He doesn’t stir this time.

I linger—just a breath longer than I should.

Then I murmur, under my breath:

“This won’t happen again.”

And I leave.

****

I go to my bathroom immediately after I get to my room. I lock it, twist the bolt, and brace both palms on the edge of the sink.

My reflection stares back at me—flushed, tired, and not as composed as I need it to be.

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