Laterlooms, but for now…I work.
The encryption is layered like an onion, each level requiring different keys. Nathan taught me some of these techniques, not knowing I'd use them against him.
The irony tastes bitter.
Layer three uses a Vigenère cipher variant with a key based on—I stop, staring at the screen.
The key.
It's our anniversary date combined with the coordinates of where we first kissed. Nathan built this encryption using our relationship as the foundation. Either he's more sentimental than I thought, or he's taunting me.
"Bastard," I mutter, typing harder than necessary.
"Problem?" Sawyer glances over from his position by the window.
"The encryption key. It's based on..." I trail off, not wanting to admit how deep the betrayal goes. "Personal information. Nathan's using our relationship as part of the cipher."
His jaw tightens. "He's trying to hurt you even through the code."
"Or he never thought I'd be the one breaking it. Maybe he assumed he'd kill me before I got this far."
Sawyer moves closer, studies the screen over my shoulder. This close, I can feel the heat coming off him, smell that cedar scent mixed with sweat from our climb.
"Can you break it?"
"Already am." My fingers fly over keys, anger making me focused. "He thinks he knows me, but he only knows the version I showed him. The real me is much less nice."
"Good." His hand rests on the back of my chair, not quite touching me but close enough that I feel the almost-contact, like an electric shock. "Nice doesn't survive this kind of betrayal."
Sawyer moves to the window, rifle assembled from his pack, scanning the darkness for threats that followed us.
"How long do we stay here?" I ask, deep into decryption protocols.
"As long as we need to. But..." He turns from the window. "You need to sleep. Real sleep, not catnapping in cars. When's the last time you got more than two hours?"
I try to remember. "Four days ago? Maybe five?"
"That's what I thought." He pulls out the sleeping bag and unrolls it. "Sleep. I'll keep watch."
"You need sleep."
"I'm used to it. Perks of chronic insomnia." He checks his rifle again, movements automatic. "Savannah, let me protect you. Go to sleep."
The words unlock something in my chest. For three days, I've been alone, trusting no one, constantly moving. The idea of sleeping safely while someone else stands guard is almost overwhelming.
I curl up in the sleeping bag, which smells like him—cedar and gunpowder and safety. It's a mummy bag, designed for one person, but surprisingly roomy. Probably because I’m nearly half his size.
The temperature's dropping outside, and even through the down filling, I'm cold.
"You're shivering," Sawyer observes from his position by the window.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not." He moves from the window, does something to the door—a wedge under it, cans balanced on the handle that will fall if anyone tries to enter.
Early warning system.
"We'll hear anyone coming up the ladder. I can take a break from watch."
