Coffee brews in the kitchen while I run through threat assessments that have nothing to do with security protocols and everything to do with the woman currently asleep down the hall. The same woman whose taste I can't forget despite a very cold shower that did nothing to clear my head.
The officers stationed outside reported nothing unusual overnight. No movement on the street. No suspicious vehicles. Just rain and quiet and me lying awake on the couch replaying every second of kissing Fallon McKay while my career depends on maintaining professional distance.
Footsteps sound in the hallway. Fallon emerges from the bedroom in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, hair pulled into a messy bun, eyes still soft with sleep. She stops when she sees me, tension humming between us despite the kitchen table separating us.
"Morning." Her voice comes out careful, neutral. We didn't have our tongues in each other's mouths less than twelve hours ago, the tone suggests.
"Morning." I pour coffee, add cream the way she prefers, slide the mug across the counter. Our fingers brush in the exchange. The contact lasts a fraction too long, deliberate acknowledgment of what we're both pretending isn't there.
She takes the mug, wraps both hands around it, studies me over the rim. "We should talk about last night."
"Probably."
"Or we could pretend it didn't happen."
"We could try." I lean against the counter, maintaining distance that feels impossible to hold. "But I'm not good at lying to myself."
Her mouth curves in a small smile. "Me either."
The quiet stretches between us, charged with what we're not saying. How kissing her felt right in ways I can't explain. How stopping felt like ripping myself in half. How every instinct I have screams to cross this kitchen and find out if it feels as good in morning light as it did in the dark.
Fallon's laptop chimes from where it sits charging on the counter. She glances at the screen, frowns, sets down her coffee. "That's odd."
"What?"
"Alert from the secure server system Commander Hartwell set up for me after the lab was destroyed." She opens the laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. The frown deepens to alarm. "Someone's accessing my research files through the base network. Active access. Right now. Someone's downloading it all."
I'm beside her in two strides, watching data stream across the screen. File after file being copied, transferred, stolen in real time. The download speeds are impossibly fast, professional-grade bandwidth that screams military or intelligence infrastructure. Whoever's doing this has serious resources.
"Can you block them?"
"Trying." Her hands move faster, typing commands that make no sense to me but clearly aren't working. Passwords rejected. Access denied messages flash and disappear. "They've got administrative access. Bypassed all my security protocols. This isn't some amateur hacker, Holden. This is sophisticated."
She tries another approach, attempting to lock individual files. The system kicks her out. Then another directory. Same result. Sweat beads at her temple despite the cool morning air. "They're shutting me out of my own research. I can't even access it anymore."
"They're copying your access credentials as they go," I realize, watching the systematic lockout. "Making sure you can't interfere while they work."
I pull out my phone, already dialing. "Commander Hartwell. We have an active cyber breach on Dr. McKay's research files."
Hartwell answers immediately. "Talk to me."
"Someone's downloading her base server backups right now. Real-time data theft." I watch the screen over Fallon's shoulder, files disappearing at an alarming rate. "We need cyber specialists on this immediately."
"I'm calling in Lennox Bradshaw. Best cyber analyst on the East Coast." Keys click in the background. "She's contracted with Defense Intelligence but I can pull her for this. Keep the connection active, see if we can trace the source."
The call disconnects. Fallon's still typing, trying to lock down systems that are being torn apart by someone who knows exactly what they're doing.
"How much have they taken?" I ask.
"Most of it." Frustration roughens her voice. "Erosion data, vulnerability assessments, tidal patterns. Months of work. The data that got corrupted in the lab is now being stolen from the base server."
Ice shoots through me. "They destroyed your lab data to force you onto the base server system. Then waited for you to upload your backups so they could access them through the network."
"I led them right to it." She closes her eyes, jaw tight. "I gave them exactly what they wanted."
"You had no way of knowing." I place a hand on her shoulder, grounding touch that's meant to comfort but sends electricity racing down my arm. "This isn't your fault."
Her phone rings. Hartwell's name flashes on the screen. Fallon answers on speaker.
