Page 30 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
And it's twenty minutes from my apartment.
My leg bounces rapidly under the desk as I dive deeper. This isn't just theoretical anymore. This is real, immediate, local. I could drive there right now if I wanted to.But what would I do when I got there? Take pictures from the parking lot?I'm a hacker, not an investigator. I deal in data, not physical surveillance.
But Asher's team, they could have resources I don't. The ability todosomething with intelligence. Not just collect it.
Which is something I can provide.
My secure messaging system pings from Han—my right monitor. The sound cuts through my hyperfocus like a knife. I blink hard, trying to shift gears as text appears on screen.
Unknown_Cipher:Hey kid, got your encrypted flag. Surprised you managed to find this channel.
Relief floods through me. After Maya mentioned he'd been going off-grid, I wasn't sure he'd respond.
Echo_Seven:SLATE?? Maya's been worried sick. Where the hell have you been?
Unknown_Cipher:Things got complicated. Had to go deeper underground. Someone's been poking around my networks.
I lean back in my chair, relief flooding through me. He's alive. He's responding. But there's something different about his typing pattern—more cautious, shorter responses.
Echo_Seven:Show you what I found with Paradise Elite. It's bigger than we thought.
I share the expanded network data through our secure file transfer, watching as the system encrypts and packages the information. The process takes several minutes, given the size of what I've compiled.
Unknown_Cipher:Jesus Christ, Nessa. 23 agencies? This isn't some street-level operation.
Echo_Seven:Gets better. Look at the medical supply orders, logistics coordination. Military-level organization.
Unknown_Cipher:Yeah, I see it. These aren't amateurs running some local trafficking ring. Look at these shell companies—they've got political protection, law enforcement connections.
My leg bounces faster against the chair leg as I type my response.
Echo_Seven:Found something else. Local connection. Sacramento.
Unknown_Cipher:How local?
Echo_Seven:Drive-there-in-twenty-minutes local. Agency that matches all the same patterns.
There's a pause before his next message appears, longer than usual for Slate's typically rapid-fire responses.
Unknown_Cipher:What about that Asher Cross you mentioned before? Still tracking him?
Heat creeps up my neck at the mention of Asher's name. I've been telling myself this obsession is purely professional, but the way my pulse quickens suggests otherwise.
Echo_Seven:Think he's hunting the same network from different angle. His background has holes but his movements suggest he's not working WITH them.
Unknown_Cipher:That's a dangerous assumption to make. Guy with his skill set, resources behind his cover... if you're wrong, you're dead.
The words appear on screen with stark finality. I've been so focused on the intellectual puzzle of Asher Cross, the thrill of our digital chess match, that I haven't fully processed the physical danger.
Echo_Seven:But if I'm right, he has resources I don't. Ability to act on what I find digitally.
Unknown_Cipher:What makes you think he'll partner instead of just taking your intel and eliminating you as security risk?
I stare at the cursor blinking, considering how to explain the strange dance we've been doing. The way he's responded to my breadcrumbs, his countermoves that suggest respect rather than simple hunting.
Echo_Seven:He's been following my trail for days. Could have traced me back if he wanted to eliminate the threat. But he's been... responsive. Like he's solving the same puzzle from a different side.
Unknown_Cipher:Be careful with this guy. Whatever organization he works for, they're serious players. Kind that make problems disappear permanently.
