“Real enough that if they hit the wrong hands, we’re finished,” I say.
Harper swallows.
“Then we find the final layer of his code before he does.”
“You mean before he leaks it,” Kiro corrects.
Iosif crosses his arms, his jaw tight. “Either way, the window is closing.”
The room falls into a quiet that feels like the space between gunshots.
Harper moves first. She pulls the keyboard toward her again, jaw set, eyes locked on the encrypted directory we haven’t cracked.
“Then we work until it breaks.”
Her determination steadies something in me. We dive deeper.
Hours stretch, the world narrowing to lines of code, red-lit security alerts, and the hum of tension that grows thicker with each discovery. Harper sits so close our shoulders brush when one of us shifts. Shared danger draws us into the same gravitational pull.
She breaks silence only when necessary.
“I need your keychain for this part.”
“Done.”
“Move the firewall to the third node or the packet loop will choke.”
“Already did.”
“Damian?”
“Yes.”
“You’re pacing.”
I stop. I hadn’t realized I was moving.
Her lips almost—almost—curve. “Sit before you wear a hole in the floor.”
I obey, settling beside her again. Our elbows touch this time. Neither of us pulls away.
Sometime past midnight, exhaustion begins stripping away the last layers of pretense.
Harper rubs her temples, sighing softly. “I keep thinking about last night.”
Her admission offers an olive branch that I grasp tentatively.
I keep my voice neutral. “Last night was…”
She lowers her hands, gaze steady. “It was—”
It was heat and clarity and a crack in the walls we’ve both built. It was a moment where danger made honesty easier than lies.
But I can’t say that aloud.
“I need you focused,” I tell her instead.
“I am focused.”
