Darcy Quinn's apartment smelled like a computer graveyard and bad life choices.
Three energy drink cans formed a precarious tower next to her elbow, and somewhere in the mess of cables snaking across her floor, her cat Mr. Orange was probably plotting her demise for forgetting dinner. Again.
But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, she was sixty seconds away from either saving her brother's ass or landing herself in federal prison.
"Come on, come on," she muttered, fingers dancing across the keyboard like she was playing some demented piano concerto.
The firewall she was trying to crack belonged to Holt Industries — a company so rich and powerful that they probably owned the building she was currently staying in.
Her screen flickered with lines of code that would look like alien hieroglyphics to most people.
To Darcy, it was poetry. Dangerous, potentially life-ruining poetry, but poetry nonetheless.
A red warning flashed across her monitor: "INTRUSION DETECTED."
"Well, shit."
Her heart did that annoying thing where it tried to escape through her throat, but her hands stayed steady.
This was what she was good at— being a digital ghost, slipping through cracks in systems that weren't supposed to have cracks.
The problem was, tonight she wasn't just stealing some celebrity's embarrassing photos or exposing a corrupt politician. Tonight, she was stealing from "him".
Lucien Holt. The man whose name was literally on the buildings. The CEO who collected companies like other people collected coffee mugs, and who had a reputation for crushing anyone stupid enough to cross him.
People like her brother Leo, apparently.
The transfer bar crawled forward —78%, 79%, 80%.
Each percentage point felt like a small victory and a step closer to disaster. Darcy could practically feel the digital bloodhounds sniffing around her and getting closer.
"Just a little more," she whispered to her screen, as if sweet-talking technology had ever worked for anyone.
At 97%, her apartment lights flickered.
At 98%, they went out completely.
At 99%, a message appeared on her screen in bold, mocking letters:
*Impressive work, little ghost. But you just made the biggest mistake of your life - L.H*
Darcy stared at the screen, her mouth suddenly dry.
They'd been watching. The whole time, they had been watching her stumble through their security like she was performing for their entertainment.
In the darkness of her apartment, with only the glow of her monitors for light, she did the only thing that made sense.
She laughed.
Because really, what else do you do when you've just digitally pickpocketed the most powerful and dangerous man in the city?
The file
finished downloading just as her screen went black.