Page 23 of Hunt Me
Good.
8
IRIS
Istare at Alexi’s last message until the screen blurs.
You’re right. I’m impressed. No one’s ever gotten that deep into our systems. No one’s ever made me work this hard.
My hands shake as I close the laptop.
“Maya.” My voice comes out wrong. Too sharp. “We need to move.”
She looks up from her phone, eyebrows raised. “What?”
“Move. New apartment. New city, maybe. Tonight, if possible.”
Maya sets her phone down slowly. “You’re overreacting.”
“I’m not.” I push back from my desk, pacing to the window. The street below looks normal. Too normal. “He knows everything, Maya. Where we live. My real name. My entire history.”
“So? You knew he’d figure it out eventually. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”
“The plan involved breadcrumbs that I chose to leave.” I press my forehead against the cool glass. “Not... this. Not him looking at me like?—”
“Like what?”
I can’t explain the way his last message felt. The shift from rage to something worse. Something focused and deliberate, and patient.
“He’s not playing anymore,” I say finally. “And we’re exposed here.”
Maya stands, crossing to stand beside me. Her reflection in the window shows concern now, the casual dismissal gone. “Okay. Walk me through it. What exactly does he have?”
“Address. Phone number. Education history. Probably work history by now.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Maya’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she shakes her head. “We’ve got good security, Iris. Three separate alarm systems, cameras on every entrance, and the panic room you insisted on installing. We’ll know if he comes for us.”
“Will we?” I turn to face her. “This is Alexi Ivanov we’re talking about. The guy who built half the dark web’s infrastructure before he turned twenty. You think our cameras will catch him if he doesn’t want to be caught?”
“You caught him at the gala.”
“Because he wasn’t hiding.”
Maya grabs my shoulders, forcing me to meet her eyes. “Listen to yourself. We can’t just uproot our entire life because you got a little reckless.”
“A little?—”
“Yes, reckless. You wanted his attention; you got it. Now deal with it.” Her grip tightens. “Slow down on the Ivanov front. Let things die down for a few weeks.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Then make it work.” She releases me, crossing her arms. “Redirect his attention. Do something. Anything except poking at him while he’s got a spotlight on you.”
I grab my laptop and open the lid. “Redirect how?”
