Page 34 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
"Proceeding with caution."
A faint scent drifts from beneath the door—coffee, the good kind, mixed with the ozone smell of electronics. I inhale deeply, gathering data. No gunpowder. No chemical agents.
The same scent from the coffee shop.
My heartbeat jumps to 72 BPM. Heat spreads beneath my skin, a visceral reaction I can't seem to control.
"On my mark," I whisper.
I place my hand flat against the door, feeling for vibrations. Nothing. With practiced precision, I push it open six inches, weapon ready, scanning what I can see.
The muzzle of my Sig leads as I push the door further, using it as a shield. I step through the threshold in one fluid motion, sweeping left to right—
And freeze.
The apartment erupts with color and light. At least five monitors glow with streams of code atop an industrial metal desk. Exposed brick walls display evidence boards and family photos. Despite apparent chaos, there's an unmistakable pattern to the madness.
"Status?" Kade's voice comes through my earpiece.
I can't speak. Every tactical detail floods my awareness: main exit behind me, fire escape through west window, narrow service corridor to the left, roof access hatch partially hidden by ceiling beams. Security cameras in each corner.
And her.
The barista sits cross-legged in an ergonomic chair, fingers dancing across multiple keyboards. Dark hair in a messy bun, neon pink streaks fully visible. Oversized glasses reflect cascading code.
That coconut-vanilla scent fills the space between us.
"You're two minutes early, Asher." She doesn't look up, just continues typing.
My Sig Sauer remains steady despite the heat flooding my system. The coffee shop. The conference. The deliberate encounters.
My mind recalibrates everything. My throat constricts.
"You've been preparing for me." I sweep the room again, identifying cover points, calculating angles. Anything to regain control over my unexpected physical response.
When she finally turns, heat surges through my bloodstream. The woman who'd smiled at me over Ethiopian coffee isn't some random barista.
She's Echo.
"For about six days now." Her smile is the same one replaying in my mind. "You're good, but I planned on you being good."
The disconnect between flirtatious barista and elite hacker makes my skin prickle. I maintain weapon position through muscle memory while my brain struggles to reconcile these conflicting personas.
"Frost, report. What's happening?" Cole's voice is urgent.
I ignore him. Something dangerous unfurls in my chest. Not fear, but reluctant admiration mixed with something more base.
"The coffee shop wasn't coincidence." Not a question.
"Neither was the conference." She stands, moving with efficient grace. "I needed to see if you were worth my time."
She gestures toward a steaming mug on a cluttered coffee table. As she moves past me, her arm brushes mine. That coconut-vanilla scent envelops me, triggering heat that pools low in my abdomen. My grip on the Sig tightens.
"I hope you like herbal tea. After working in a café all day, I'm coffee'd out."
I lower my weapon a fraction, keeping my finger along the frame. My body remains combat-ready even as something deeper responds to her proximity.
I position myself within two steps of cover, back angled toward windows. Her loft is a tactical nightmare for me, but paradise for her—open sight lines, multiple monitors, home field advantage.
