Page 81 of Hunt Me
“You’ll what?” He pulls a knife from his belt. Military issue, serrated edge. “You’re zip-tied to a chair in an undisclosed location. No one knows where you are. Your hacker boyfriend can’t track what doesn’t exist in any database.”
The blade catches the fluorescent light.
“Please.” Maya’s voice breaks. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know about the files, I swear?—”
“Iris?” Morrison presses the knife to Maya’s cheek. “Clock’s ticking.”
My mind races through options. None of them is good.
If I build a backdoor into Ivanov Systems, I’ll compromise Alexi’s entire operation.
“I need time.” The words taste like ash. “They’re encryption is quantum-level. I can’t decrypt it without?—”
“Wrong answer.”
He drags the blade down Maya’s face.
Blood wells in the shallow cut.
Maya screams.
“Stop!” The word rips from my throat. “Stop, I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Morrison pulls the knife away, wiping Maya’s blood on his handkerchief. “Much better.”
He returns to his chair and retrieves the tablet. “You have forty-eight hours to build the Ivanov backdoor. You’ll work from this facility under surveillance. Any attempt to signal for help, any hidden code in your work—” He glances at Maya. “I start removing pieces.”
My stomach churns.
“Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Morrison stands. “We’ll provide you with a workstation. Food. Water. Everything you need except freedom.” He walks to the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. “Your parents thought they could expose Nightshade, too. Look how that worked out.”
The door closes behind him with a hollow clang.
Maya’s sobbing, blood dripping from her cheek onto her shirt.
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks. “Maya, I’m so sorry.”
“Just do what he says.” She won’t look at me. “Please, just do it.”
Bile rises in my throat.
I swallow it down, but the sickness remains—churning in my gut like acid.
This is my fault.
Every choice I made led here. Breaking into Nightshade. Refusing to stay at Alexi’s penthouse.
He knew. Alexi fucking knew they’d come for us, but I was too stubborn to listen.
Maya’s quiet now, tears streaming silently down her face. Blood still drips from the cut on her cheek—shallow but deliberate.
And it’s because of me.
“Maya—”
