Page 83 of Anchor
She gave a small laugh. “That’s adorable.”
“Adorable? It’s frustrating,” Reid corrected. “Because I know you want the truth.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Even if it changes everything?”
Reid turned slightly, kissing the top of her hair. “It won’t change how I feel about you, and it may give you answers.”
The silence after that wasn’t heavy. It was a kind of pact. But even as he held her, Reid’s gut churned. Ian’s silence wasn’t just delay. It felt like Ian was holding something back. And whatever the contents in Joseph Bowman’s ledger meant… it hadn’t finished speaking yet.
TECHNOLOGY CENTER – 1428 H0URS
The screen was muted, but the image was perfect. Claire on the bed, blanket pulled to her hips. Reid sitting close, his fingers tangled in hers. The feed flickered once then stabilized.
The traitor leaned in. Adjusted the audio filter. Cleaned the waveform. Pushed past internal encryption flags. It wasn’t hard. Not if you had the right credentials. Not if you had written the override protocols during the 2021 design and build.
The line of code moved silently across the lower margin of the screen.
user> @silentkey: verified
They watched Claire smile. Watched Reid exhale like someone letting go of a burden.
Soft. Predictable. Human.
The watcher’s fingers tapped the desk once. A slow rhythm.
Then::transmit.burst://V_N-11
Subject Reid Hanlon – within range. Emotional link confirmed. Window will close by Friday.
A quiet green light blinked in reply.
The watcher leaned back, face still obscured in shadow. One of them. Vos’s ghost in the Chase machine. And no one knew.
CHASE HQ – SUBLEVEL 3 – SECURE OPS NODE 4 – 1819 HOURS
Reid stood at the monitor, jaw tight. He had received a nonemergency notification from the technology department. Fuse saw an anomaly. He’d left Claire in Tuck’s competent hands.
“Run it again,” Reid said.
The junior tech swallowed, fingers shaking over the keyboard. “Sir, I’ve already done it twice. The network logs from the executive suite came back clean.”
Reid’s eyes narrowed. “No. They’re not clean. They’re scrubbed. There’s a difference.”
The kid hesitated. “But who would…?”
“Not asking for guesses,” Reid cut in. “Give me the raw backup logs. The ones that never leave this floor.”
The tech clicked through hidden subdirectories. Rows of access entries scrolled past routine pings, standard sweeps, until Reid spotted it. “Stop. Scroll back.”
The screen froze on a single odd line buried in the noise. One entry that didn’t belong.
Reid leaned in. “Auxiliary relay 403. That’s not primary. That’s one of the off-grid maintenance nodes.” His eyes tracked the code. “This isn’t a scan. It’s a login. Someone walked through a back door.”
The identifier blinked on the screen:S.Key011.
Reid’s pulse kicked hard. “Who the hell is S. Key?”
The tech tried to trace it and came up empty. No department. No clearance file. No badge photo. Just a dead trail.
