Jace: I bet Sin falls in love with this one.
I exhale through my nose, irritation and amusement mixing in my chest.
Rowan glances over. “Your fan club?”
“My brothers.”
“They’re supportive.”
“They’re idiots.”
I type back with one hand while we climb.
Me: Focus on Dad.
A second later, another message pops up, this time from Nash.
Nash: Trail went cold at the mining camp. But we pulled something. Old ledger. A name tied to a shell company we’ve seen before. We’re sending details. Watch your six, Sin.
My jaw tightens. Dad again. Always Dad. The ghost that won’t stay buried.
I thumb a response.
Me: Copy. Keep me posted.
Rowan’s watching me now, her eyes sharp with curiosity she’s trying to pretend isn’t there. “What is it?” she asks.
“Family stuff,” I say.
“Is that code for ‘someone is trying to kill your family too’?”
I look at her. She’s attempting humor, but her voice is careful. I don’t lie. Not to myself, and not to her. “It’s complicated,” I say.
Her mouth presses into a line. “That’s a yes.”
“It’s not your problem.”
“Right,” she says, too light. “Because apparently my problems weren’t enough for the universe.”
We reach the top. Cal opens the door to The Bridge and steps aside so Rowan can enter first.
Inside, the loft is all glass walls and screens. An ops table sits in the middle with maps, tablets, and a projection setup. A couch and small kitchenette occupy the corner. Two techs sit at a workstation, headsets on, monitors filled with code and signal graphs.
One looks up as we enter. “Cal.”
Cal nods. “This is Rowan. We’re gonna look at her phone and anything touching it.”
The tech swivels his chair. “We can do a full forensic pass. Clones, logs, installed profiles, SIM behavior, carrier pings. If there’s spyware or a spoofed tower tag, we’ll find it.”
Rowan’s eyes widen slightly. “That sounds… intimate.”
“It is,” I tell her. “That’s the point.”
She shifts her tote strap higher. “Okay. Violations of privacy are very sexy when they’re saving my life.”
Cal gestures to the ops table. “Sit. Both of you.”
Rowan slides onto the stool and crosses her legs, posture composed. She’s putting on a show. She thinks if she looks calm enough, her body will follow.
