I stared at the screen, and my mind raced. "Okay. Think. What would someone obsessed with Kenji use as a password?"
Not his name—too obvious.
But something connected to him.
Something that mattered.
"His title." I typed in D-R-A-G-O-N.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the phone vibrated once—different from the error buzz.
Softer.
Unlocking.
Relief flooded through me. "Wow."
The home screen appeared—generic wallpaper with standard app icons.
No cute customization.
No selfies.
No hints at personality.
All anonymity.
I went straight to the messaging app.
There was one main thread at the top.
No contact name, just a number in an international format.
Hiro sneered. “My father’s line.”
“Fuck.” I opened the thread.
Messages filled the screen.
Short, clipped lines.
Updates.
Little reports.
I handed it to Hiro. “This is the spy’s phone.”
“And Mami is the spy.” He took the device and scrolled down to the most recent message. There were attachments—tiny paperclip icons along the thread.
He tapped one.
Photos opened.
The air left my lungs in a rush.
The image was of me walking down the hallway toward my office, seen through a partially open door.
