Page 26 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
Cole's voice speeds up with unusual urgency. "They're bouncing through systems now—accessing attendee lists, speaker schedules, security protocols. Damn, they're fast. Moving through firewalls like they're made of tissue paper."
"Location?"
"Can't pinpoint. Signal keeps fragmenting, but proximity analysis suggests they're within fifty meters of your position."
I settle into a chair, appearing casual while my eyes scan each face. A woman typing on her phone. Two men discussing encryption protocols. A security guard checking his earpiece.
"They know we're here. Target profile?"
"Based on movement patterns, someone with extensive knowledge of network architecture. Probably using a custom tool suite that..." Cole pauses. "Wait, the signature just circled back to your section again."
My muscles tense fractionally. I can feel the target's presence, not physically, but in the digital wake they're leaving. It's the equivalent of someone circling your position, studying you before striking.
"They're toying with us."
"Pattern suggests physical presence nearby," Cole confirms. "The intrusion points match conference WiFi nodes closest to the panel area."
I continue my assessment of each attendee, calculating threat levels based on posture, hand position, eye movement patterns. Nobody fits the profile I'd expect. No obvious signs of the focused intensity that accompanies active hacking.
I adjust my position in the uncomfortable conference chair. The cybersecurity panel drones on, speakers discussing theoretical vulnerabilities while I maintain my cover as an interested attendee.
I keep my expression neutral, nodding at appropriate intervals, when Cole's voice cuts through my earpiece, carrying an edge of shock I rarely hear from him.
"They just dropped off the network... but they left another data packet. It's..." he pauses, "more Paradise Elite financial records with timestamps from two years ago. Matches exactly when Jenny was investigating them."
My heart beats faster. This is no random hacker. This is someone who knows about Jenny's work, and possibly what happened to Roman.
I pull my secure phone from my jacket pocket, the screen unlocking with facial recognition. The data packetappears; financial records layered with transaction codes, shell companies, and numbered accounts. I scan for patterns, weaknesses, connections.
"What am I looking at, Blade?"
"Financial records from Paradise Elite, specifically their European division. Transfers matching ones Hellcat told us Jenny flagged before her death."
I flick through multiple screens, processing the data. These aren't random files. They're methodically selected, telling a specific story about money movement.
"These records align with Jenny's missing files," Cole continues. "Dates, amounts, even the routing patterns are identical to what she documented."
Jax's voice cuts in, tension evident despite his casual tone. "Seems like someone wants us looking at Paradise Elite."
"Or someone's continuing Jenny's investigation."
I pocket my phone, considering the implications. If these files are authentic, they represent the missing pieces of Jenny's investigation. The ones that vanished after her death.
I rise from my seat in the audience with deliberate calm. The urgency pulses through me, but I keep my face impassive as I navigate between the rows of chairs. Several attendees glance up, but I'm already past them, moving toward the exhibition floor beyond.
The late afternoon sun cuts through the massive glass ceiling and vendors' displays cast elongated shadows across the polished floor. The crowd has thinned considerably as people filter between sessions, their movements more predictable now, making surveillance more efficient.
I position myself near a refreshment table. To anyone watching, I'm simply a conference attendee contemplating the selection of drinks and snacks.
"Our hacker knew exactly what to look for in Jenny's files. This isn't random intelligence gathering. They have a purpose."
"Or they're setting us up," Jax interjects.
Movement near the far display catches my eye. Something in the pattern breaks from the crowd's normal flow. I track it automatically, the way I'd follow a target through a scope.
My breath catches.
A petite woman with dark hair moves between two tech displays. Pink streaks flash when she turns her head.
