Page 9 of Make Them Bleed
Satisfied her inbox is clear of immediate threats, I open my own mail—mostly server alerts, freelance web-design gig invoices, and spam. So much spam.
I minimize windows, but sleep remains reluctant. My mind spirals through worst-case scenarios: The Five spotting Juno, cops tracing Hoover’s IP, Juno discovering the spyware. The biggest fear, though, is simpler—her looking at me with betrayal instead of trust.
I push back from the desk and pace between bookcase and bed, stepping over piles of comics. I force-march my thoughts into a mantra:Protect her first. Confess later.
Eventually exhaustion wins. I set phone alarms—one for sunrise recon of Juno’s building, one for the fake account drop. I crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling fan, counting rotations. Somewhere around the three-hundredth spin, I drift into shallow sleep populated by rubber Hoover masks and Juno’s scream turning into laughter I can’t quite reach.
The buzzof incoming mail snaps me awake at 4:06 a.m. I’m upright before consciousness fully returns, fingers flying acrossthe keyboard. It’s nothing—just a social-media digest. But the adrenaline is pure rocket fuel. No going back to sleep now.
I open a blank notepad and start mapping tomorrow’s tasks:
Create a secure dropbox for Juno’s files.
Run facial-recognition on Arby’s final followers list vs. local arrest records.
Cross-reference the timestamp of masked intruders’ entry with city-grid power fluctuation data (someone cut cameras—maybe they hit power junctions?).
Buy a second,breathablemask.
Flowers for Juno—no, scratch that. Hoover wouldn’t send flowers.
Halfway through item five my phone vibrates.
Gage: U awake?
It’s followed by a bleary selfie with coffee. I chuckle and text back:
Insomnia posse never sleeps.
He thumbs-up reacts, then:
Gage: Seriously, anything I can do?
I hesitate, then type:
Know how to set up a shell corporation?
I follow it with a winking emoji.
