"Get your hands off me, Draven!"
I shoved at his chest, but it was like pushing against a reinforced concrete wall. Cael didn't budge. Instead, his grip tightened on my wrist, pulling me flush against his tactical gear. I could smell the ozone and cold metal clinging to him, a scent that screamed *corporate hitman* even in this dump of a hideout.
"Shut up and stay still, Quinn," he snapped. His voice was a low grate, vibrating right through my ribs. "The ghost-tag is spiking. If you glitch out now, we both drop."
"I'm not glitching! I'm trying to breathe!" I twisted, my boots scuffing the grime-streaked floor.
He didn't let go. He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine. I could see the gold circuitry of his ocular implants humming, scanning my vitals in real-time. The heat coming off him was oppressive, a physical weight that made the air between us feel thick, electric.
"Your heart rate is at a hundred and forty," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto my eyes. "You're terrified. Or you're lying. Which is it?"
"Maybe I just hate your face," I spat, though my pulse betrayed me, thudding hard against the skin where his fingers pressed.
I tried to summon the ghost-code. I closed my eyes, reaching for that shimmering, invisible layer of the city—the place where the System’s logic frayed. Usually, I could slip through the locks like a whisper. But today, the air felt solid. The code was cold, dead.
"It's not working," I whispered, my bravado slipping. "The trick... it's gone."
Cael stiffened. He didn't move away; if anything, he stepped deeper into my space, his chest brushing mine with every shallow breath I took. "What do you mean it's not working?"
"I mean I can't see the seams!" I yelled, shoving him again, harder this time. "We're sitting ducks in a room with one door and no backup. Happy now?"
He let go of my wrist, but only to grab my shoulder, pinning me back against the peeling wallpaper. His hand was heavy, warm through the thin fabric of my jacket. He wasn't comforting me. He was gauging me, like a predator deciding if the prey was still worth the hunt.
"You're the one who said you could hack anything," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If you're useless, Quinn, I have no reason to keep you breathing. The System wants you deleted. I'm just the guy with the eraser."
"Then do it," I challenged, tilting my chin up. "Delete me. See if you can handle the feedback loop when your brain melts because we're tethered."
For a moment, the silence in the room was deafening. I could hear the hum of the city outside, the distant scream of a mag-lev train. I could feel his thumb brush against my collarbone—a tiny, accidental movement that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight down my spine. He didn't pull away. He lingered there, his breath warm against my cheek.
"You think you're so clever," he muttered. "But you're just a glitch in a suit of rags."
Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain ripped through my left shoulder. I gasped, my knees buckling.
Cael flinched at the exact same time. He jerked his shoulder back, a mirrored expression of agony crossing his face. He stumbled, his eyes widening as he looked at me, then back at his own arm.
"What the hell..." he groaned, his voice strained.
I looked down. There was no bullet hole in my jacket. No blood. Just a shimmering, digital distortion—a jagged red line of code flickering across my skin like a scar.
"You felt that, didn't you?" I wheezed, clutching my arm.
"Yes," he hissed, his teeth clenched. "Who's targeting you?"
"I don't know!" I snapped. "I'm a courier, not a CEO!"
He didn't answer. He reached out, his hand gripping the back of my neck, pulling me forward as if to shield me. The dominance in the gesture was instinctive, almost protective, and it made my stomach do a slow, traitorous flip. He was still the man sent to kill me, but the link was real. We weren't just tethered by a tag; we were sharing the same pain.
"Stay behind me," he commanded. "If someone's tracing the ghost-signal, they're coming for the source. That's you."
"Oh, great. I'm a walking beacon for every corporate hit-squad in the sector," I muttered, leaning into him despite myself. The feeling of his strength was the only thing keeping me upright.
"Stop talking," he said, though his grip on my neck softened, his fingers lingering just a second too long against my hairline. "We move. Now."
He dragged me toward the back exit, his movements sharp and tactical. Every time he shifted, I felt a phantom echo of the movement in my own muscles. It was intimate in a way that made me want to scream. I could feel his adrenaline, his focused aggression, and something else—a flicker of curiosity that didn't belong in a Tier-S Adjudicator.
We reached the heavy blast door of the safehouse. This was supposed to be the extraction point. Milo had promised me this place was scrubbed from every map in the city.
Cael paused, his hand hovering over the keypad. He glanced at me, his eyes narrowing. "You sure about this guy? Milo?"
"He's the only one who doesn't report to the Board," I said, though I sounded unsure. "He's... loyal. Mostly."
"'Mostly' doesn't keep us alive," Cael replied.
He punched in the code. The door hissed, the heavy metal sliding upward with a mechanical groan. I stepped forward, expecting to see Milo’s cluttered workshop, the smell of soldering iron and old coffee.
Instead, the room was empty. Except for one thing.
In the center of the room, sitting in a chrome chair, was a man. He was dressed in a high-collared corporate suit, his skin the pale, waxy color of a corpse. His eyes were milky, dead, but as the door opened, his head snapped toward us with a sickening, wet crack.
He smiled. It wasn't a human smile; it was too wide, stretching the dead skin of his cheeks until it nearly tore.
I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I knew Cael could feel it too. He stepped in front of me, his weapon drawn and leveled at the dead man's head.
"Who are you?" Cael demanded, his voice like ice.
The dead man didn't answer immediately. He tilted his head, his milky eyes scanning me, ignoring the gun pointed at his forehead. Then, his lips moved, producing a voice that sounded like grinding glass.
"Hello, Lexi," he rasped.
I stopped breathing. The air left my lungs in one sharp burst.
"How... how do you know that name?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
I had erased that name. I had burned every record, deleted every file, and rewritten my identity into a ghost-tag three years ago. Nobody in this city knew that name.
The dead man's smile widened, revealing rows of blackened teeth.
"The System remembers everything, Lexi," he whispered. "Even the things you tried to kill."