The conference room is already occupied when we walk in. Rivera stands at the head of the table with a woman I've never seen before. She has short blonde hair cut in a stylish, spiky pixie, wearing flowing layers and statement jewelry that scream high-end bohemian—completely at odds with the military setting and clearly giving zero shits about it. Sharp green eyes assess me in one quick sweep before returning to Rivera.
"Dr. Abernathy," Rivera says. "This is Lennox Bradshaw. She'll be handling the cyber investigation."
"Nox, please." Her British accent is crisp and precise. "Ms. Bradshaw makes me sound like a schoolteacher, and..." She shudders at the thought, then flashes me a wicked grin.
I shake her offered hand. "Gwen. Thanks for coming in."
"Thatcher made it sound intriguing and lucrative." She glances at him. "Though he failed to mention you'd be quite so competent. The documentation you provided is exceptional."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I haven't actually found anything useful." She turns back to Rivera. "Now, about access to your systems. I'll need administrator privileges, unrestricted network access, and someone who can walk me through your security protocols without wasting my time explaining why I can't have what I'm asking for."
Rivera's mouth twitches. "I'll have IT set you up."
"Brilliant. And I'll need an office. Something quiet, away from foot traffic, with a door that locks."
"We can arrange that."
"Excellent." Nox pulls out a laptop. "Shall we begin?"
The briefing lasts hours. Nox tears through the cyber forensics reports, asks pointed questions that make the NCIS analysts look uncomfortable, and generally treats everyone like they're wasting her time if they can't keep up.
She pulls up the database code on the main screen, pointing at specific sections with a laser precision that borders on aggressive. "This intercept layer your hacker built? It's not just sophisticated. It's elegant. They understood exactly how your systems talk to each other and exploited the gaps with surgical precision."
"Can you trace it?" Rivera asks.
"Given time, yes. Given unlimited time and money? Absofuckinglutely." Nox zooms in on another section. "But they covered their tracks well. Multiple VPNs, proxy servers routing through at least six countries, spoofed MAC addresses. This person knows operational security."
One of the NCIS analysts speaks up. "We tried tracking the access points?—"
"And hit dead ends, I'm sure." Nox doesn't look away from her screen. "Because they're using rotating entry vectors. Different access points on different days, never the same pattern twice. It's textbook advanced persistent threat methodology."
"How long to break through?" the analyst asks.
"Depends on whether they're still active in the system or if they've pulled out completely." Nox finally turns to face the room. "If they're still in, I can set traps, watch for activity patterns, narrow down their operational signature. If they've gone dark, I'm digging through historical logs and hoping they made a mistake somewhere."
"What are the odds they made a mistake?" I ask.
Nox's smile is sharp. "Everyone makes mistakes eventually. The question is whether they made one I can find before they do something else stupid."
She tells a full Colonel that his password is "embarrassingly predictable" and should be changed immediately. The Colonel sputters. Nox doesn't even bat an eye.
"Sir, with all due respect, 'MarinesRBest' is not a secure password. It's the digital equivalent of leaving your front door open with a welcome mat." She types something on her laptop. "I've just run your password against a standard dictionary attack algorithm. It cracked in seconds. Seconds."
The Colonel's face reddens. "That's?—"
"A serious security vulnerability, yes." Nox's tone doesn't soften. "I've already flagged it in my preliminary report. You'll want to change it to something that doesn't include your birth year, your branch of service, or any dictionary words. Preferably before I finish this sentence."
Rivera clears her throat. "Ms. Bradshaw?—"
"It's Nox. And before you tell me to be more diplomatic, consider that someone hacked your entire inventory system while everyone was using passwords like 'Password123' and thinking they were secure." She closes her laptop. "I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to find your hacker before they do more damage."
The room goes silent. I pull out my phone under the table.
Your friend has zero chill.
Thatcher's response comes seconds later: a laughing emoji and
