Page 31 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
Echo_Seven:What do you know?
Unknown_Cipher:Enough to know you're swimming with sharks. Been tracking similar financial patterns through different channels. Connections to former intelligence officers, people with government resources.
My fingers pause over the keyboard. Jenny had mentioned something similar in her last email about powerful connections.
Echo_Seven:Jenny mentioned that before she died.
Unknown_Cipher:She wasn't wrong. Multiple players in this game. Government, private contractors, criminal orgs. Same targets doesn't mean same side.
The projection on my wall shifts as new data processes, creating an even more complex web of connections that spans the continent. The scope makes me dizzy, like standing at the edge of a cliff and looking down.
Echo_Seven:Can't do this alone anymore.
Unknown_Cipher:Then don't. But choose allies carefully. Always have an exit strategy.
The connection indicator starts flashing yellow—unstable signal.
Unknown_Cipher:Got to go. Someone sniffing around my networks lately. Be smart kid. Trust your instincts, but verify everything.
Echo_Seven:Slate wait—
Unknown_Cipher:Connection terminated.
The screen goes back to standby, leaving me alone again with my glowing monitors and projected data. The silence feels oppressive after the comfort of human contact, even through encrypted text.
I stare at the Sacramento agency data glowing on my wall, at the local address that's close enough to matter. This changes everything. While the expanded network proves the scope of the operation, local intelligence gives us immediate action potential.
Something Asher's team would definitely want.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as doubt crawls up my spine like ice. This is the biggest calculated risk of my life. If I'm wrong about him, if this is some elaborate trap...
But the projected web of agencies glows around me, each node representing women who might be trapped, exploited, disappeared. And now there's one node that's local, immediate. I can't sit in my digital fortress forever while people suffer twenty minutes away.
I open the secure messaging program I'd created specifically for my digital dance with Asher. One final breadcrumb. This one leading directly to my door.
My heart pounds as I type, each keystroke feeling like a step off a cliff:
The game is over, Cross. Time for real talk. 1520 R Street, Loft 4C. 10 AM tomorrow. Come alone or don't come at all. I have something local you'll want to see. Something your team can actually act on.
-Echo
I attach the expanded agency network data showing the scope—twenty-three agencies across fifteen states—but keep the Sacramento location details separate.
That information stays mine until I know where he stands. It's my ace in the hole, the intel that makes this meeting worth their time.
My finger hovers over the send button. Once I press this, there's no going back. I'll be inviting a predator into my den, into the space where I feel safest and most powerful.
But sometimes you have to be vulnerable to gain trust. And if Asher Cross is hunting the same monsters I am, we might be stronger together than apart.
The local connection makes this urgent. Real. Not just data points on a screen, but actual victims who might be trapped in a building I could drive to right now.
I press send.
The message disappears into the digital void, seeking its target through encrypted channels. Around me, the projected data continues its silent dance across my walls, Jenny's photo a constant reminder of what's at stake.
I stand up, my body protesting after hours of sitting. My joints pop and my neck aches from hunching over keyboards. My loft—my sanctuary, my command center—will become a battlefield tomorrow.
But it's my territory. My rules. My advantage.
