Page 62 of Scattered Glitter

Not until I figureherout.

Ezra’s gaze is heavy on me as he asks, “Does this have anything to do with that split lip you’re sporting?”

“No.” I keep punching the bag, but the lie hangs in the air, a heavy weight. Of course, it has to do with the split lip. Only not with the guy who gave it to me, but the reasonbehind it. I punch the sandbag harder, my knuckles already starting to sting.

Ezra doesn’t buy it. “You’re fucking lying.”

I grit my teeth, throwing one last hard punch at the bag before steadying it and resting my gloves against it. “Maybe.”

Ezra has been able to read me like a goddamn book since the day he pulled me out of the shit I got myself into. I was sixteen and breached systems that no one my age had any business touching—hell, thatanyonehad any business touching.

It started small, innocent even.

If you call hacking innocent.

I was a kid trying to get my hands on unreleased games, find cheat codes, and sell access to servers that gave players god-like powers. It was all a game to me back then, walking through walls in a virtual world, bending the rules. I wasn’t doing it for money, not at first. I did it for the rush, for the control.

Then I got cocky, poking around in places I had no business being. I hacked into an email account linked to a game developer, thinking I’d find more game code or maybe some juicy company secrets. Instead, I stumbled onto a secure server.

The server had military-grade simulations.Real ones.Helicopter simulators, weapon designs—stuff that wasn’t supposed to be seen by someone like me. I was too far in, too hungry for the thrill, so I downloaded everything I could get my hands on.

That’s how I went from stealing game code to hacking the US military.

Total coincidence,but it didn’t matter.

The police didn’t care if I meant to do it or not. They found out, and that’s when the walls closed in on me.

Ezra found me at the edge of that cliff, caught between prison and the void. Instead of turning me in, he pulled me out. He saw something in me that no one else did. I wasn’t some punk kid messing around with code. I wasgood. He gave me a choice. Either rot away in juvie or work with law enforcement for a few years to track down other hackers as a punishment for what I’d done.

I glance over at Ezra, his usual expression—a mix of tired patience and unwavering determination—fixed on me like he’s already decided to forgive whatever mess I’ve made before I even finish making it.

I owe him everything.

Oscar took me in when Ezra brought me to his doorstep. I was a kid from a broken home with a violent father and a mother too scared to look me in the eye. Hacking and being out at night on the streets, looking for fights so I didn’t have to be home, was my escape. It was the only thing I could control. But even that went too far.

I go for the bag again, unloading on it with rapid-fire punches.

Ezra steps away as the sandbag starts to sway wildly, the chain above it groaning with each hit. I’m panting hard, but I keep going. He doesn’t interrupt, seeming content to stand by me as I work through my issues on the bag.

I don’t know how much time passes before I hear footsteps behind me. Panting from the exertion, I look up to see Alaric standing at the door, a sheepish look on his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you guys were down here,” he explains, his hand still on the doorframe, halfway in, halfway out.

Typical.

I wave him in, breathing heavily but trying to play it cool. “Don’t worry, come in. We’re done anyway.”

Ezra shoots me a look, but he doesn’t say anything.Instead, he shrugs and heads out, leaving me alone with Alaric. I hate that Ezra and Alaric don’t get along. It can’t be because Alaric is a thief or a so-calledjail rat. I mean, I’m a fucking criminal, too, and Ezra treats me like we’re brothers.

Alaric moves to the weight section and lies on the bench, preparing to lift. I wander over and stand behind him. “Need a spotter?”

Alaric glances up, his expression neutral. “No, thank you.”

It’s been months since I’ve seen him down here. Months since he’s been anything but a shadow. The muscles in his arms strain as he grips the bar, and something nags at me.

“You ever wonder…” I say, keeping my voice casual, “… if maybe you have such a fear of abandonment because you keep abandoning yourself in an attempt to stop other people from abandoning you? Just a thought.”

Alaric freezes, staring up at me, his expression unreadable for a second. Then he sighs. “Fine. Spot me.”

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