Theo and Ross pull out more gear.Laptops open, signal intercepts, decrypt attempts… Nothing.
“This thing’s locked down tighter than a bank vault.”Ross switches to a different computer.“Encrypted at a level I haven’t seen outside black ops.No wonder it didn’t trigger our equipment.”
“We can’t trace the feed.”Theo’s brow creases.“Wherever it’s going, it’s not a commercial endpoint.No pings.No reflection.”
“Figure it out.”Monty crosses his arms.
“It’s not going to a cloud.”Theo pauses.“It’s going to a physical system.Closed loop.Somewhere nearby.”
“Blue princess,” I mutter under my breath.
They all look at me.
“That’s what he called it.”I shrug.“His setup.His lair.That’s where the feed’s going.”
Carl nods.“Where—?”
“Hold up.There’s a dead-end road…” Monty removes his phone, and his thumbs fly over the screen.“A couple of blocks from here.”He angles the display toward us, showing a zoomed-in map.“Princess Way.”
“There’s a fucking street called Princess Way?And I’m just now hearing about it?”I’m already moving, heading toward the door.
Monty and Carl flank me as I cut through the streets.Following Monty’s directions, I turn right, then left, and two blocks later, I stop at the entrance of a dead-end road.
Princess Way.
How many times have I passed this street?It’s so unremarkable I never gave it a thought.
It consists of four beat-up houses that slump into waist-high grass.Old chairs and busted appliances rot on the porches, and mailboxes tilt at crooked angles.
One house is straight-up rotting, the windows smashed, and the front door hanging off the hinges.But it’s the backyard that grabs me.
Tucked into the overgrowth, as if trying to disappear, sits a concrete shed.
Dead freight piles up around it.Cracked plastic bins, broken shelving, and splintered pallets lean against the ugly, unassuming cement-block walls with weathered, faded paint.
Blue paint.
A blue shed on Princess Way.
“That’s it.”My pulse spikes as I break into a run, boots crunching through weeds and gravel.
I circle the shed, checking for tracks and clues.No windows.No vents.Just one steel door with a black keypad embedded beneath the handle.A solid, industrial thing.Too new for this building or this neighborhood.
Monty retraces my steps around the shed as Carl pulls on gloves and kneels to inspect the keypad.
“Blue princess.”Monty picks at the chipped blue paint.“Do you think Jag left you this breadcrumb by accident?”
I crouch beside Carl and study the door and keypad.My mind spins through possibilities, traps, bait, and the million ways this could be a dead end.Or a setup.
But my gut doesn’t scream danger.It hums.
“No.”I straighten, wiping sweat from my brow.“Jag leaves rock trails for Dove.Coded breadcrumbs are literally his thing.”
Monty nods.He already knew that.He just wanted to hear me say it.
Carl looks up from the keypad.“Then let’s hope he left you the passcode, because this door will be impossible to open without it.”
“Explain.”A cold weight drops in my chest.
