Page 11 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
I scan her details clinically. Education in computer science before dropping out to take care of her sick father.
MIT? Impressive.
No criminal record. No suspicious financial transactions. Nothing that flags in our system.
Just a barista. With unusually perceptive eyes.
And a smile that stayed with me all day.
I force the thought away, continuing my review of the remaining staff. This isn't about her. This is about identifying potential security vulnerabilities. About finding Echo.
The possibility that I'm searching employee records for reasons beyond security protocols flickers at the edge of my consciousness. I shut it down with practiced discipline.
"Analyze digital breach patterns from the last forty-eight hours," I command the system.
The displays shift, showing cascading lines of code fragments. The intrusion patterns take form, elegant in their complexity. Whoever breached our system knows what they're doing—the signature suggests military-grade training or exceptional natural talent.
I lean closer, studying the approach vectors. "Cross-reference with known hacker signatures."
No matches found.
Professional work. Someone covering their tracks effectively.
Cole's words repeat in my mind.Elegant. Almost artistic.
The security upgrades weren't just improvements. They were personalized, as if the intruder understood exactly how our systems functioned and what they needed.
My mind drifts momentarily to the café. The layout provides multiple surveillance angles, decent cover options. A return visit would be strategically sound to monitor potential digital signals in the area.
That Vanessa might be working is irrelevant to operational planning.
I pull up schematics of the surrounding city blocks, marking potential observation points. The café sits at an intersection with sightlines in three directions. Tactically helpful position.
"Run probability analysis on breach origin," I instruct the system, watching as heat maps overlay the city grid.
My fingers trace invisible patterns over the holographic display, muscle memory from years of calculating wind vectors and bullet trajectories. The familiar calculations center me, pulling me back from distractions.
This is what I do: find the target, eliminate variables, take the shot.
The café location lights up as a possible signal origin point.
Coincidence? Or justification to return?
I frown at my thought process. This isn't like me. I don't mix personal interest with operational parameters. Ever.
"Delete analysis bias," I mutter, resetting the calculation parameters. "Start again."
The results appear identical. The café remains highlighted.
I compile a preliminary security assessment, meticulously documenting signal patterns and physical vulnerabilities. Each data point, each analysis, brings me further from personal interest and deeper into the familiar comfort of tactical planning.
A subtle shift in air pressure at my back alerts me to another presence. I don't turn around. Only one person moves that quietly.
"Find anything interesting?" Kade's deep voice comes from the doorway.
I don't flinch. Don't turn. Just keep my eyes on the holographic display as if his question is routine. As if I haven'tbeen caught doing something that feels uncomfortably like personal reconnaissance.
"Standard security protocol." My voice remains flat, emotionless. "The café's proximity to our secondary comm relay makes it a potential vulnerability."
