Page 103 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
"Come on, come on," I mutter, drumming my fingers against the keyboard while my other hand twists a strand of hair around and around. The fog outside presses against the windows like a prison wall, thick and suffocating. Rain taps against the glass in an uneven rhythm that mirrors my scattered thoughts.
"I swear if this fog doesn't lift soon, I'm going to crawl out of my skin." I spin in my chair, reaching for another energy drink, my third in the last two hours. The movement sends a stack of printouts sliding to the floor. "Fuck!"
A warm hand lands on my shoulder, instantly sending a wave of calm through my jangled nerves. I didn't even hear him approach—never do. Asher just materializes like some kind of ghost.
"Little bunny." His voice drops low, controlled. "You need to breathe."
My eyes fix on the right monitor, where fragments of code I've been avoiding for hours stare back at me. The programming style is unmistakable—elegant, efficient, with particular syntax choices I'd recognize anywhere.
"I need to talk to Slate about this." I gesture at the screen, my stomach twisting into knots. "I've been avoiding it, but these patterns look too similar to his work to ignore."
Asher's hand tightens almost imperceptibly on my shoulder. His face stays blank, but tension rolls off his body like heat from pavement.
"You're certain?" His tone clips each word precisely.
"It's like recognizing someone's handwriting." I tap uneven rhythms against the desk, creating percussive counterpoint to the rain. "He taught me half of what I know about digital forensics."
Asher moves to stand beside me, his body angled slightly between me and the door—a protection instinct so ingrained he probably doesn't realize he's doing it. "You trust him."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I did. I do." My voice catches. "But this..." I point to a particularly distinctive string of code. "This shouldn't be here."
Taking a deep breath, I pull my keyboard closer. "Only one way to find out."
Asher shifts his weight, a controlled change that positions him with a logical line of sight to both me and the entry points of the room. The sniper in him never fully powers down. My shaking hands steady as I start the video call to Slate.
The fog swirls thicker outside, turning the world beyond Asher's windows into a gray void that seems to encroach on the room. I'm trapped here with my suspicions, with no easy escape.
The call connects with a soft electronic tone.
Slate's face appears on the large display, his image crystal clear despite the gloomy weather outside. His dark-rimmedglasses frame intelligent eyes, and his mouth curves into an immediate smile when he sees me.
"Nessa! I was thinking you'd fallen off the planet." His voice carries the same calm confidence I remember from late-night coding sessions when he'd convinced me my MIT dropout status wasn't failure but freedom.
Asher shifts his weight behind me, an almost imperceptible change that somehow radiates disapproval. His breathing pattern changes slightly, the only giveaway that Slate's familiar greeting affects him at all.
"Hey, Slate." I force my voice to sound casual while my heart hammers. "Been busy."
Slate's eyes drift past me to Asher's towering presence, and his grin takes on a sharper edge. "Still keeping company with Mr. Tall, Dark and Deadly, I see."
"He's helping with... a situation." I catch the smallest flicker at the corner of Asher's mouth—displeasure at being introduced as merely "helping." The micro-expression vanishes so quickly I almost doubt I saw it.
I quickly share my screen, bringing up code fragments without revealing their source. "I need your eyes on something. These patterns keep showing up in places they shouldn't."
Slate leans forward, instantly professional. His fingers tap against his desk as he studies the code. "Interesting... this authentication sequence is built like a Russian nesting doll. Layers within layers."
My stomach knots as he points out exactly the elements I recognized as his signature style. The muscles in his face remain carefully controlled as I search for any hint, any tiny twitch that might give away what he knows about my growing suspicion.
"The thing is," I carefully twist a pen between my fingers so rapidly it's just a blur, "these look remarkably similar to yourwork. The way the authentication handshakes happen, how the keys nest together..."
Slate's face hardens. "Someone's been studying my techniques." His eyes narrow. "Where did you find this?"
"It's part of an investigation," I hedge, watching Slate's reactions. Is that anger or fear flickering across his features? "I need to know if you've shared your methods with anyone recently."
"Absolutely not." He sounds offended, but there's something in his eyes, a shadow that wasn't there before. "My work is proprietary. Someone's obviously trying to imitate me."
I catch each flicker of his face while my foot drums against the floor in a chaotic rhythm. "Could you look deeper into these patterns? There might be something I'm missing."
"Send everything you have. I'll analyze it tonight." His gaze drifts back to Asher, assessment in his eyes. "Be careful who you're trusting with this, Nessa."
