Cam doesn’t hesitate. He steps back, letting us see the screen. Six words surrounded in black staring back at us.
Good morning.
Did you sleep well?
My jaw tightens. “That’s it?” I ask.
“That’s it. There’s no entry point. It didn’t set off any alarms,” Cam confirms. It just appeared.”
Kiera leans closer, eyes scanning the words, almost like she’s looking for a hidden meaning. “They know where we are,” she says quietly.
“They know you’re here,” Cam repeats. The screen flickers. Another message appears, slow and deliberate.
You’re building something new.
Be careful what you lock out.
Kiera, lost in thought, reaches unconsciously for my hand. Even in her own head, she’s searching for something to ground her. “They want attention.”
Cam swallows. “And they want you two to remember.”
I stare at the screen again, pulse steady, voice calm. “Then we give them attention.” I pause. “On our terms.” The message doesn’t change. But it doesn’t disappear either. Cam looks at us, waiting to see which way the weight falls.
Kiera’s the one who breaks the silence. “Reply,” she says, her voice firm. No hesitation.
Cam’s fingers hover over the keys. “You sure?”
She nods once. “If they wanted to play, so let’s play.”
I angle myself closer to the table, one hand still wrapped around hers beneath it. “Short,” I add. “Nothing emotional or reactive.”
Cam exhales through his nose. “Minimal and precise. Got it.” He starts typing, deletes it. Tries again. Deletes that too.
“Stop thinking like they’re smarter than us,” Kiera says calmly, her voice steady and ice-cold. “They want fear. Give them confidence instead.” Cam looks at her. For a long second, something shifts behind his eyes. Then his shoulders settle, the tension easing just enough for whatever clicked into place. He starts typing.
We see you.
Whatever you want, make it count.
The cursor blinks. For a long agonizing moment, nothing happens. The house hums around us—the fridge kicks on with a low mechanicalgrowl, and somewhere down the hall, a pipe ticks as it cools. Then the screen updates.
Bold.
Confidence suits you.
Lila, who had silently crept into the doorway at some point, mutters, “If that thing starts typing ‘seven days’ next, I’m burning the whole laptop.”
Kiera doesn’t smile, her voice almost clinical. “They’re testing us.”
Cam nods, slowly. “Seeing if we’ll escalate.”
“We’re just matching them,” I say. A new message appears.
You’re protecting her now.
That’s new.
My grip tightens before I can stop it. Kiera feels it, but she doesn't pull away. Cam swears under his breath. “They’re watching in real time.”
