“You don’t need those glasses, do you?” She looked at the discarded pair now resting innocently on top of an exposed hard drive. “At the water plant, you flipped wires and fixed circuits without any trouble.”
He didn’t respond immediately, as if debating his response, but then he turned and held her gaze, steady and unreadable. “No. I don’t. LASIK, years ago. These have clear lenses.”
Lena blinked, surprised she was correct. “Then why wear them?”
A pause before he shrugged, lifting one shoulder in a casual way that always meant he was saying something vulnerable. “Zach’s idea. Said they give me an advantage. Leverage if someone tried to—to disorient me during a breach. People assume they matter, so they target them. It’s a decoy. Gives me a few more seconds to react.”
“That is… so very Zach.”
David’s mouth twitched. “Exactly.”
She glanced at the glasses again, perched there like any other accessory, but now looking a little more like armor. “Who knows?” she asked.
“You,” he said. “My brothers. Marguerite. Kate might—she’s incredibly observant. That’s it. If anyone else has figured it out, they haven’t commented.”
She warmed at the trust his words wrapped around her. No grand gestures, no declarations. Just inclusion.
A red alert pulsed at the top of the screen. David frowned and leaned forward. He swiped across the tablet, swearing under his breath as Lena moved in closer behind him, the tension in the air like a wire pulled tight.
“Tell me that blinking thing isn’t what I think it is,” she said.
“I’d love to lie to you,” he muttered, “but unfortunately, the system’s been poked again. A breach attempt—masked IP, spoofed credentials, recursive loop. Happening now. Advanced.”
“Poked.”
“Technically, penetrated. Briefly. I’ve isolated it. Mostly.”
Lena crossed her arms. “So… crisis?”
“Crisis-ish.”
He tapped the screen with rapid precision, then paused. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he sent a sly glance to Lena.
“I have a new security feature I’m installing.”
She arched a brow at him, intrigued by his sudden air of mischief. “Oh?”
David glanced toward the door as Minx slunk in, tail flicking with dignified disdain.
“I call it the Feline Firewall,” he said. “Unpredictable, highly judgmental, impossible to bypass without scratches.”
Lena laughed—short, surprised, real. The kind that slipped past her defenses.
Minx hopped onto the nearest chair like she’d been summoned to a board meeting, posing regally for their admiration.
Lena frowned at her. “How did you get out of my office? Again?” She shook her head and turned back to David. “I assume it comes with attitude pre-installed.”
David leaned near enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath when he murmured, “Just like her owner.”
Her heart stuttered—and the tablet let out a low beep. The screen flashed green.
The system stabilized.
Lena started. “Wait… did it work?”
David looked amused. “Maybe she’s good luck.”
Minx sneezed and knocked a USB stick off the desk.
