7:20 a.m.

The phone rang, jolting me awake. I blinked at the screen—Private Number. My heart rate kicked up a notch, but I answered anyway.

"Who is this?"

"Take a guess," came the distorted, metallic voice.

I sighed, tension ebbing as I recognized it. "Oh. It's you, Chainsaw."

A snort crackled through the line. "It's Wrench," he corrected, sounding genuinely offended.

"Whatever," I muttered. "What's this, harassment now? Trying to badger me into joining your little cause?"

"What? No way! I just thought I'd call for a chat. You know, build a beautiful relationship between us," he said, dripping with exaggerated cheer.

I pulled the phone away and checked the time. 7:20 a.m. I groaned. "Really? At seven-twenty in the morning? And how the hell did you even get my number?"

"Your number's linked to your name, genius. I'm pretty sure you can do the math," he said smugly.

I clenched my teeth. "Fantastic. So, what do you want?"

"I told you, I just want to chat."

"Cut the crap," I snapped. "What's your angle here, huh? Trying to rope me into your little 'fight for freedom'? Look, I've heard it all before—'power to the people,' 'down with the system,' and all that. I get it. You're the good guys. But guess what? I don't care. I'm beyond caring about the 'greater good.' So, stop wasting your time."

There was a brief pause. Then, a faint chuckle. "Wow. You've gotta be a real joy at parties."

I rolled my eyes. "What do you want, Wrench?"

"I was just wondering... did you even think about our offer?"

"Yes," I replied flatly. "And I decided I don't feel like risking my neck for some cause I don't believe in."

"Even if a powerful hacker group helped you out?"

I let out a derisive laugh. "Hypothetically, how much help could you even offer? And more importantly, why should I trust you? For all I know, this could be some elaborate setup to burn Blume to the ground."

He made a noise that sounded almost like a scoff. "If that were the case, we'd be a lot more discreet about it. And besides, we don't show our faces to just anyone, especially not the enemy."

"Right. And yet, here we are," I said dryly.

"Yeah, here we are," he repeated, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "You know who we are. You saw our faces. That means something."

"Good to know," I murmured, my mind racing. He wasn't wrong—most hackers would die before exposing themselves like that.

"Anyway," he continued, cheer returning to his voice, "you've got my number now. I'll be expecting your call tonight. Toodles!"

Before I could respond, the line went dead. I stared at the phone, frustration boiling in my chest. Toodles? Seriously?

I groaned, staring at the call log displayed on my phone before tossing it onto the couch. It bounced once, then tumbled onto the floor with a dull thud. I barely cared. Instead, I let my head fall back against the armrest, sighing as I stared blankly at the ceiling. Part of me wanted to join DedSec just to spite Nemec—just to flip him the middle finger and watch his reaction. But the other part, the more cautious one, knew better. It was afraid that getting tangled up in this mess would make everything I feared come crashing down around me.

With a frustrated growl, I pushed myself up and retrieved my phone, noticing a small crack along the edge. Great, I thought wryly. Another reminder of the anger issues I've been so graciously blessed with. I set it down carefully on the table and headed to the kitchen, setting my old coffee machine to brew. I had just enough time to shower and get ready for work.

After a hot shower that did wonders to ease the anxiety coiled in my chest, I slipped into my professional attire, poured coffee into my rusted travel mug, and left the apartment.

The moment I got into my car, I glanced at the clock—8:05 a.m. Fifty-five minutes to get to work. I started the engine and switched on the radio, hoping some music would help drown out the thoughts swirling in my head as I pulled out onto the road.

I parked in the Blume lot, the familiar unease settling in as I approached the entrance. The doors slid open, and the front desk operators greeted me, all smiles and rehearsed politeness. I nodded back absently, but something in my chest tightened. Last night's events lingered like a shadow, gnawing at my nerves as I made my way to the elevator. The moment the doors closed, I finally exhaled, releasing the tension I didn't even realize I'd been holding.

I turned to my reflection in the elevator's mirrored wall. My eyes were sharper than usual, my expression tense. Calm down, Teagan, I told myself silently. He doesn't know. No one does. Just act normal.

The doors slid open, and I stepped out onto my floor. People greeted me as I made my way to my office, a steady stream of smiles and hellos. I responded just enough to not seem rude, but I didn't linger. My job didn't require much interaction, which was a blessing. Most of the communication involved employees dropping off documents that needed translating, and they usually kept it short—sometimes too short. It was as if they were... intimidated. And right now, I was fine with that.

12:45 p.m.

My office phone rang, the sudden noise startling me out of my concentration.

"Yes?" I answered briskly.

"Miss Foster, Mr. Nemec would like to see you in his office." His secretary's clipped tone offered no room for refusal, and the line disconnected before I could respond.

Fantastic, I thought sourly. Just what I need.

I pushed back from my desk, took a steadying breath, and made my way to the elevator. It was a short ride to the top floor where Nemec's office—his throne—was located.

I breezed past his secretary, who was absorbed in another call, and stopped in front of the large, imposing black door. I knocked twice, then let myself in.

Dusan was seated behind his sleek desk, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Of course, the CTO would have the best view—overlooking the city like some king surveying his kingdom, surrounded by overpriced decor that screamed power and arrogance.

He turned his chair around, a smug smile plastered on his face. "Ah, my favorite polyglot!" he greeted, spreading his arms wide in faux welcome. "Come in, come in."

I took a seat across from him, not bothering to hide my irritation. "You wanted to see me?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I wanted to see how you're doing."

I arched an eyebrow. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Just checking in." He gave me a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "And those documents from last night? Are they good to go?"

My stomach dropped. I fought to keep my expression neutral. "I told you I needed more time to finish them."

"They should've been done yesterday," he said lightly, tapping his chin as if in deep thought. "We have to send them to Beijing by the end of the day."

"Well, they're not," I replied flatly.

"And why is that?"

I leaned forward, my gaze locking onto his. "Check your security footage. You might find it enlightening."

His expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. "Funny thing," he said slowly, "the footage didn't show anything unusual. So, why don't you enlighten me?"

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to punch his smug face. "What happened," I said through gritted teeth, "is that I got kidnapped. In the middle of my damn workplace."

His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, then he let out a low, disbelieving chuckle. "That's your excuse?"

I leaned back, folding my arms. "Nice to see you care."

The smile dropped, and he cleared his throat, putting on a mask of seriousness. "I'll need those documents in the next hour. Understood?"

I scoffed, standing up. "I can't promise you anything, Dusan."

I turned on my heel and headed for the door, but paused, looking back over my shoulder. "Oh, and by the way? If you're not going to pay me what I'm worth, at least use that money to buy a better security system."

With that, I walked out.

Back on my floor, I headed straight for the bathroom. I leaned over the sink, hands gripping the cold porcelain as I stared down, willing myself to think clearly. What the hell am I doing? Everything was spiraling, and I was running out of options. Then, slowly, I raised my head, meeting my reflection in the mirror.

And that's when it hit me. I'd made up my mind.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the last number in my call log.

"That didn't take as long as I thought," the distorted voice answered, almost smug. He sounded pleased. "Changed your mind?"

"Tell your little crew to expect me tonight," I said, my voice steady.

I could practically see the grin spreading behind that stupid mask.

"Great. I'll let them know."

He hung up, and I slipped the phone back into my pocket. Just then, the bathroom door swung open, and Michelle stepped in. She glanced at me, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Did you at least flush?" she sniped.

I gave her a slow, deliberate once-over. "You should really reconsider your choice of skirts, Michelle. The tighter they get, the looser you look."

Her mouth fell open, but I didn't stick around to see her reaction. I left the bathroom, a small smirk tugging at my lips as I made my way back to my office.