#minor crash

[anything-pov]

kinda angsty request

Reader tried getting Emily to quit smoking

they think it's working

they catch her smoking after she had to spend one on one time together with her mom (Elizabeth)

reader is pregnant and wants her to quit before baby arrives

they get into a fight

reader leaves apartment gets into an accident (something small minor injuries)

Emily panics and quits cold turkey

happy ending baby is fine and here

Trying to Quit 🚬

The day started calm. One of those quiet Saturdays that smelled like pancakes and warm laundry. Emily Prentiss had woken up with her arm tucked under Y/N's growing belly, their skin warm against hers.

She whispered something about decaf coffee and a foot rub and Emily grumbled a "yes, my love" before slipping out of bed to start the kettle.

They'd been doing better lately, Emily had even gone two months without a cigarette. Y/N, six months pregnant, had asked, begged, really, that she quit.

Emily agreed. The cravings were brutal, but she did. For Y/N. For the baby. But then Elizabeth Prentiss came to town. It started with brunch.

Ended with red wine (for Elizabeth), passive aggressive remarks about legacy and sacrifice, and an hour of Emily being reminded just how little her mother understood her.

By the time Emily walked back into their apartment, her jaw was clenched and her hands were trembling. Y/N was napping on the couch with a folded baby onesie resting on their bump.

Emily stared at them. Then she slipped onto the fire escape with a pack she hadn’t meant to keep, and lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. She didn’t hear the window open.

“Are you serious?!”

Emily spun around, cigarette halfway to her mouth. Y/N stood there in the oversized hoodie she loved, their face a kaleidoscope of disbelief and hurt. “Y/N, it’s just one—”

“You lied to me, Emily.” Their voice cracked, full of raw disappointment. “You said you quit.” Their head shook in disappointment. “I was quitting. But my mother—” Emily tried to ramble.

“This isn’t about her,” Y/N snapped. “This is about us. About our baby. You think I want to sit here growing a life while you slowly poison yourself outside the window?”

Emily stomped out the cigarette, ashamed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No,” Y/N said, grabbing their keys. “You never think when it comes to her. You let her get in your head every time.”

“Y/N, wait—please don’t go like this.”

But the door had already slammed behind them.

Y/N drove with trembling hands, not really seeing the road. They were crying, angry crying, and trying not to panic. They didn’t even know where they were going, just that they couldn’t be there.

Not after that. Not while their chest felt like it was splitting open. They turned too sharp. The rain had started. Slick roads, an overcorrection, and a sickening crunch of metal against the passenger side.

Emily’s phone rang thirty minutes later.

Quantico PD.

A minor accident, they said. Y/N was conscious. Taken to the hospital. “Small gash on the forehead. Possibly a fractured wrist. Baby seems fine. But you should come.”

Emily dropped everything.

She burst into the hospital room with wet hair, shaking, eyes darting from monitor to monitor until they found them. Y/N. Pale. Wrapped wrist. Stitches above their left brow.

“God,” Emily whispered, rushing to their side. “I’m so sorry.” Y/N didn’t answer at first. Then, soft: “The baby’s okay.” Emily pressed their hand to her lips.

“I don’t care about the smoking anymore. I’m done. For real. Cold turkey. I threw them out. All of it. You and the baby... you’re everything.”

“You always say that when I’m hurt,” Y/N whispered. “I mean it this time. I swear on every goddamn file in the BAU. You scared the hell out of me.” Emily promised.

Y/N blinked at her, exhaustion etched into every line of their face. Then, finally, they whispered, “We can figure it out.” Emily nodded, placing a trembling kiss against their hand. “We will.”

- - -

Two and a Half Months Later...

The birth was long. Loud. Emotional. The baby arrived at 3:42 a.m., red-faced and full of life, already kicking. A girl. Ten fingers, ten toes and a surprisingly strong grip.

Emily stood at Y/N’s bedside, their baby in her arms, breathing her in like she was made of redemption. “She has your nose,” Y/N said tiredly, head back on the pillow.

“And your lungs,” Emily added. “She came out screaming like she knew Congress was listening.” They laughed, both of them teary-eyed.

Emily leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Y/N’s temple. “No more cigarettes.” The Chief had muttered, Y/N looking to her with hope, “Promise?”

“I quit the day I almost lost you,” Emily whispered. “And now I have everything I need.” Y/N blinked up at her, brushing a thumb along Emily’s jaw.

“She’s got a hell of a team,” they said. “You, me, and no smoke in the air.”

Emily nodded, too excited to hold her child, cradling the baby tighter with a silent promise.

[yuzusfinest]

never ask a queer person what happened to their white and black coded ship

[constehlla]

Wembley Rusties!!

I am so excited to be out of the building with this I ignored it for like several weeks. sorry rusties love yall rusties <3

[scribl-oi]

Super freak

[the-nameless-dude]

I finished it

Finally

Imma sleep now bye 🦅

Cross belongs to @jakei95

Ink belongs to @comyet

[oldbutchdanielcraig]

QUEER (2024)

[k-0re]

IM NEVER SHARING MY INTERESTS IRL AGAIN HOLY SHIT

[folkbreeze]

📌The Fin's - pictured: bathroom, kitchen, dining room & reading corner

wasted almost all their money just for these rooms, hope Ashe doesn't get mad at me

[purensanity]

I was going through a depressive episode recently, so i needed something evil for my souls

[thehotpilot]

if patient doting service boyfriend tommy acts like this for a relatively minor workplace injury imagine how he’ll act next time bucks life is in danger

[whorangi1104]

If Jor-El was always there with the milk

Inspired by this tiktok about a Tumblr post… also because the comments are begging me: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8Nojvct/

TW: description of a torture method

Everybody knows the story of how Superman crashed to earth after the destruction of his home planet, but not everyone knows of his father who arrived with him.

Jor-El, who had somehow gotten his clothes hooked onto some part of the capsule his baby was in when they fired it, was honestly surprised he survived the deep space for so long without losing his son's capsule, although weakened somewhat. It seemed that they crashed on a lesser developed planet, as the beings here were still living in small structures built of basic natural materials. With his son, Jor-El knocked on the door of the nearest settlement for help.

Pa Kent was quite surprised, to put it lightly, when he answered the door to a strange man wearing clothes that seemed quite out of place and carrying a sort of carrier containing- is that a baby? And it turns out they were aliens, and none of them could understand the other, but he knew wasn't hallucinating when the man demonstrated boiling a pot of water with his lasers for eyes. But he was taught to do the right thing and trusts people (or aliens) until they give him a reason not to, so he let them stay. He told the neighbors they were distant relatives who were tired of city life, and because they coincidentally needed a helping hand on the farm. Within a short time, they'd learned the language, became quite a help with their speed and strength, and were delightful company. Although Pa Kent still worried his wife might gravitate towards this “Jor-El”, for he was far better looking, but semi-co-parenting the adorable baby was worth it.

Jor-El quite enjoyed this simple life, and the years passed quick. He had started courting both humans, though he could not gift them his wealth, he helped whenever he could. He learned earth customs, and apparently what he thought was courting wasn't how they did it, but oh well. He would still teach he son the ways of his roots, and keep the customs of suitors.

Clark grew up like any other boy, except for the time he almost burnt down the barn, froze the lake, drifted into the clouds as a baby… you get it. His biological father taught him to control these things so he could blow on his food without making an iced sundae out of his soup, but it was Ma and Pa Kent who helped him with his school work, tucked him in most nights, and read him stories of snow white and little red riding hood. Jor-El mostly taught him a Kryptonian curriculum, and was the only one he could really let loose playing catch with without the worry of accidentally hurting him. It was kinda like having divorced parents, if the divorced parents got along just fine and still lived together, and one of them built an extension to the house that tripled its size to do experiments in (scientist on any planet). Sometimes Clark would catch his Father staring at a sketch of a woman and look up into the stars, but it was a mutual agreement not to speak of her (after Clark grew out of his ‘why’ phase anyway).

Clark grew up, had his farewell, moved to Metropolis, you know the story. Sometimes Jor-El would visit him, check up on his Kryptonian, though Clark knew he could hear him just fine across the country. Clark eventually started dating Bruce Wayne after interviewing him. Then there was some confusing things where Bruce kissed Superman, (that's still him, but he didn't think Bruce was really smart enough to figure that out at the time,) then BATMAN of all people kissed him, and they had a good laugh about how Bruce thought they both knew each other's identities, and Clark was a mess of confusion during it all. But this isn't about superbat interactions in the wild, plenty of other fanfics for that, this is about Jor-El about to have way too many adopted orphaned grandkids. So then came the time for Bruce to meet Clark's parents.

Meeting the Kent's? They were charmed, happy that Clark found someone financially stable and made him happy. The regular human stuff. Mr.El on the other hand?

Jor-El looked down at the man in a suit standing in front of him. He had never really listened in on his son's personal life, as a respectful Kryptonian, but this one seemed a bit… dim. Famously a playboy bimbo, honestly. This was the guy Kal-El was into? Well if Kal thinks he can pass the test, then so be it.

Bruce looked up at the imposing figure in front of him, tall as a mountain, calm as a river, arms crossed with a glare that could shake a lesser man. Bruce was no lesser man, but with his Brucie act, Jor-El probably thinks that he was just too stupid to be intimidated.

“So, Jake, was it?”

“Jor, of the house of El.”

The alien's glare deepened, while Bruce rivaled him with a smile.

“Potato patata, pleased to meet you sir.”

“Oh no, the pleasure is all mine.”

“Sarcasm, glad to see our species aren't so different.”

“You will need to complete the courting ritual to have my son.”

“I was thinking of breaking the ice a little, but straight to the point, a very efficient man I see. Could I interest you with a job at Wayne Enterprises?”

Jor-El ignored the job offer and switched to Kryptonian, which Clark sighed and translated, although Bruce had already learned the language and had surgery to implant an invention of his in his vocal cords to physically be able to pronounce the words that would be impossible for a normal human.

“He says the suitor may pick any activity as long as the rules are fair. If they fail to win, the parent can,— dad, I'm not translating that.”

Bruce understood it of course, giving a thoughtful “Hn.” in response. These Kryptonian rituals were certainly high stakes, and he certainly doesn't look forward to being strung up with barbed wire and left to marinate in a gas chamber for however long it would take for Clark to break through a bulletproof window with blue kryptonite strapped to his back. A Kryptonian might survive that, but certainly not mortal Bruce Wayne without his batsuit.

He knows what he has to do.

“What do you know, a royal flush!”

Batman can see Jor-El seething in the corner as this ditzy little human took the last of Clark's poker chips, an utter and undeniable victory. Bruce flashes the Man of Titanium- his new nickname- a signature Brucie smile, watching with glee as big, bright, and angry gave him a look that almost rivaled his batglare.

“...Did you just win Clark in a game of poker?”

“I also won an apple pie. The infamous Kent pie, try not to get too jealous when I take both of my hot, steamy, homegrown prizes home.”

Clark buries his head in his hands, but Bruce can feel his smile and the heat radiating off of him.

“Øh, åñd ßy thê wãy, try çœlîñg dòwñ ā bìt wíll yā? Rèd īßñ’t rælly yøúr çōlòr. Î prëfér Kål ïñ ìt mœrè.”

Bruce smirked at the brief flash of surprise on the older Kryptonian’s face at the use of his planet’s language, pulling Clark with his apple pie out the door before he can respond.

Ma Kent is cackling in the background :)

[sapphic-smau]

‧˚₊ ⊹ ‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊ ꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊

|The Yellowjackets Won Nationals, they never crashed, they all graduated, the end. Teen time line (18-19 ages) | Pairings: taivan, jackieshauna, genhat, lottienat, reader x all | Rating: M | TW: drugs, alcohol use, cussing, explicit themes, smut, fighting, dark humor, cheating | Word Count:

a/n: yes there are pairings in this story but it is implied reader has been with all of the Yellowjackets, but the main pairing is Mari and reader. Also, I updated my Taglist form so you can add your username, if you have filled it out prior please do it again so i can tag you.

✧ taglist ✧ masterlist main ✧ submission guidelines ✧ WIPS ✧

18+ MINORs DNI

‧˚₊ ⊹ ‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊ ꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊

It’s been about a month since graduation, I’ve been hanging around mostly on the edge of town in the woods, getting high, and doing things that are considered illegal. I was walking towards my usual spot when I spotted Natalie hanging outside of the convient store, I put my head phones around my neck and walked up, Jerry the clerk yelled “Oh no both of you go. You littl-“ I flipped Jerry off while Natalie started laughing, she grabbed her bag and we started walking to a secluded area behind Main Street. She held a cigarette in her right hand while choking and laughing, “Jerry hates us both you know that right?” I smirked “No he hates that we started a tab that Lottie always ends up paying.” We looked at each other knowing how much we stole and should probably pay Lottie back. Natalie and I grew up the same, I lived 3 trailers down from her and was there the day her dad shot himself. We were closer than most which is why I became an honorary Yellowjacket.

“So.. are you going to follow Lottie to New York?” I asked before taking a drag of half a joint I found in my pocket. Nat sat in silence for a bit, “I don’t know, there’s nothing left for me here anyway, except living the same way I grew up.” It hurt, I wasn’t exclusive with anyone.. well not officially anyway.. Mari and Laura Lee are the two I’ve been going between, or well any of the others when they fight with their partners and want to blow off steam. “Yeah I get it, you don’t want to live in this narrative, guess I turned out the exact way everyone thought I would.” I shrugged, Nat looked at me “Don’t say that, you graduated with a high GPA you just didn’t apply to any colleges.” I looked at her “Nat I can’t afford college, plus I just need my bar card to go work at sloppies.” The silence felt like the weight of 5 Mack trucks, she was right but Wisayok was where I was born and where I’d die.

After Nat left me, I went home to find my cousin sitting on my steps, “You owe me.” I snatched the bag out of his hand, and attempted to push past him. He grabbed me by the face and squeezed as hard as he could, “You better fucking pay me, or else.” I spit in his face, “Or what? You’ll beat me like you beat all of your girlfriends? Piss off Jake. You are more of a low life than both of our parents combined. He let me go before he pushed me, “what the fuck did you just say?” I smirked, “Oh Jake.. Jake. Jake. Jake. I’m not scared of you, I fought my dad after he put his hands on my mom and I will surely get a couple of punches in before someone comes to break this up. You are nothing except a Low level, drug dealing, wife beater, dead beat dad, good for nothing, piece of shi-“ that’s when I felt his left fist make contact with my face, I blacked out and clipped him with my right hook. When I came too he was holding his nose will blood dripping down his face, “Fuck you.” I shrugged and picked up the bag and my back pack, “fuck off Jakey boy.” I walked into the trailer and locked the door behind me. I tossed my keys and my backpack on the table before going to my room, I looked in the mirror at my black eye and a small cut where his ring scraped across my skin. “Well this will be fun to explain.” I sighed and changed out of my clothes to go shower, hopefully no one questions me.

Later that night after getting the score and heading to Lottie’s house, something stopped me at the door, my life became just like my moms, low grade drug dealer and letting everyone use me like a bus stop. Before I could knock Mari opened the door smirking, “Everyone , party favors are here!!!” I heard the rest of the girls cheering and running up to the door. Nat stopped the group, “what the fuck happened to your eye?” The group looked at me in a very concerning way, I shrugged “nothing, I got jumped. You should see the other guys.” They all mumbled under their breath before Jackie said “OKAY WELLLL LETS GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!!!”

Lottie always paid in advanced for everything I’d bring to these parties which was great for me and lame for her because she let me keep anything that wasn’t used. Mari wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek, “you know I’m really going to miss having these parties.” I smiled sadly knowing that all of the girls were leaving to go to college, Van, Tai, Lottie, and Nat all decided on going to NYU, Shauna got into Brown, Mari got into UCLA, Laura Lee got into Stanford, Jackie, Gen, and Akilah got into Rutgers, Mel got into Duke, Misty got into Ohio State and I applied to UCLA, UW, and the University of North Carolina, didn’t get accepted into any of them, but I haven’t told any of the girls yet.

I handed my bag to Mari to get the party started, I grabbed a beer and a joint and walked outside, no one noticed anyway they were far too excited about the items laid out on the table. I took a long drag and stared off into the trees, ‘fucking Wisayok’. I heard the door slide open and Laura Lee walked outside with two beers in her hand. “Want some company?” I shrugged still deep in thought, she stood next to me and put the beer down on the table, “what’s going on? You didn’t talk to anyone when you came in… you didn’t even notice Jackie half undressed..” I chuckled slightly “Laura Lee I didn’t get in to any universities, I’m not leaving this shit town, I have no future.” The air felt thick and I wasn’t sure what was going to be said next “just because you didn’t get in this year doesn’t mean you are stuck in Wisayok.. plus there is a room full of girls who even if they hardly ever showed it they do care about you.” I looked at Laura Lee “They cared that I could get them coke and weed, they didn’t care about who I was. Come on Laura Lee, I’m being used just like I was destined to be.” I heard a cough coming from the stairs to come on to the deck, “I was going to try to scare you but… no one cares about you so I’m going to go.” Mari looked disappointed, sad, and maybe a little angry, I didn’t anticipate her hearing those words come out of my mouth, Laura Lee was far more understanding.

“Mar wait!” I ran down the steps and caught up to her at the corner of the house when we were out of eye sight from Laura Lee I reached for her hand and she immediately pulled away, “Mar…” she looked at me with tears filling her eyes, “I don’t care about the drugs you idiot, I care about you! I’m in love with you and you can’t get over your self deprecation to even notice!” My breath got caught in my throat, I dropped the beer and joint I had in my hands and pushed Mari up against the house, “you barely looked at me when we were at school.” Mari rolled her eyes, “BECAUSE OF THE WAY YOU TREATED ME AT THESE PARTIES Y/N! I DONT WANT TO BE THE LAST CHOICE OR THE MOST AVAILABLE CH-“ I couldn’t listen to her yell anymore, or say that she was my last choice, hell she was always my first choice, she was the people’s princess, but she took over every single thought in my brain, I grabbed her hips and pulled her into a kiss. Her arms wrapped around my neck and the smell of smoke and taste of alcohol played off our breath and our clothes. “I’ve been in love with you since 7th grade Mari, we just lived in two different worlds.”

“Then why did you tell Laura Lee no one cared about you?” I looked down at my feet and back up at Mari, “because I know you deserve better than Wisayok trash like me.” She shook her head and placed her hand on my cheek, “come with me to LA, we can figure it out, all of it. You aren’t Wisayok trash.” I smiled “Are you Mari Ibarra the people’s princess asking me the washout to be exclusive?” She started laughing and closed the gap between us, I deepened the kiss and pushed her harder into the wall. She pulled at the bottom hem of my sweatshirt and we parted to both take our tops off and we tossed them on the ground.

My hands went to the small of her back and played with the waist band of her jeans, “wait.. you didn’t answer me.” I kissed down her neck and back up to her lips, “doesn’t this answer it?” I unbuttoned her pants and slid my hand between her legs, and whispered in her ear “stay quiet, we wouldn’t want to be interrupted.” Mari let out a breath before biting her lip, she pushed her jeans down further giving me more access. “Good girl.” I bit down on Mari’s neck as I rubbed her clit faster, “FUCK” her nails dug into my back, I pushed her up harder against the wall, she slipped one leg out of her jeans. I moved my hand from holding on to the wall to covering Mari’s mouth, Mari used one hand to pull her underwear down to her ankles before gripping onto my shoulder again. I slipped two fingers inside of her, I watched as her eyes rolled back. Mari bucked her hips forward as I thrusted my fingers in and out of her. Her moans were not quiet and my hand wasn’t muffling it enough, both of us were panting and sweating.

“You’re doing so good for me baby, cum for me before we get caught.” I heard the door to the outside deck open and Jackie laughing loudly and yelling at Shauna to stop fighting with Melissa. I quickened my pace, until I felt Mari’s walls tighten around my fingers, and a warm fluid drip down my hand. I smirked and removed my hand from Mari’s mouth, even though I could still feel her nails deep in my back. She was panting hard, “I’ll take that as a yes then.” I smiled and wiped my hands on my pants, “Y/N? Mari? You guys are going to miss strip poker! Where are you?!” Nat called out and Jackie Mirrored her, I grabbed my hoodie off the ground leaving Mari against the wall, “I’ll see you inside babe,”

I winked and walked back around back, “Sorry! We were just talking,” When I pushed past Nat and Jackie I heard them whispering about the blood showing through my shirt on my shoulders. Mari called out and I could hear her running behind “Wait for me guys!” When the four of us returned inside, there was white powder on the coffee table along with poker chips and cards, everyone was cross faded and gone. I leaned over and whispered to Mari about the bite mark on her neck that was a slight purple/blue color, she looked at me and said “you should see the other girls back.” I smiled “ha ha very funny. Also Jake hit me, but I’m fine.” She rolled her eyes like she was shocked, and grabbed my hand, “LA in two weeks.. we can make it.” That’s when Sir mix a lot was turned on and the strip poker started.

For once I was high on something else, how did partying with the Yellowjackets turn into, outdoor sex and admitting that I, Y/N L/N, was in love. This might be our last party of the season but this won’t be the last time we are all together… to be continued.

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Taglist:

[maequil]

someone posted they think langdon is covering for mohan, and i'm gonna need the writers to listen, take notes, and COOK

[the-penguin-of-baskervilles]

Chapter 28

Summary: Princess confronts Court about his investigation and is shocked by what he's uncovered. After their trap fails, she takes the hunt for evidence into her own hands and comes face-to-face with the stalker.

Word Count: 8,029

Warnings: Includes scenes with gun violence, hostage situations, and car accidents. Discussion of stalking behaviors, general violence, computer hacking, and spy/intelligence agencies. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

Author's Note: Thank you all for you patient with me these past few months. Your encouragement made a huge difference and really motivated me to get it done.

Masterlist

Court stationed himself behind the desk in Lloyd’s office and used the laptop to pull up livestream footage from the cameras in the patent department. He leaned back, looking relaxed, other than his eyes. That cool blue gaze locked on the screen, gleaming with an intensity usually seen in carnivorous birds before they descended upon unsuspecting prey. 

Nausea curled unpleasantly in your stomach, a sign that the rush of adrenaline that had propelled you through the evening had run out. You folded yourself into the chair across from Court, rubbing your temples to ease the dull throb of a headache. The overly bright fluorescent lights stabbed at your retinas. Though you were completely stationary, your head was spinning, as if you were on a high-speed carousel. Your thoughts whirled in a chaotic vortex that intensified the dizziness. Everything in your mind was colliding, tipping you off balance.

Yet despite the over stimulation, you were bubbling with excitement, because for the first time in months, you could see the fragments of the puzzle that had upended your life. Some of the edge pieces had been sorted out tonight. You’d been able to assemble the corners and from there, a complex mural of overlapping details took shape. For instance, your breakup with Aiden. He’d used his promotion as a pretext for the split, and in July, you’d had no reason to doubt him. After all, he’d been out that night celebrating with his friends at Song-Li’s restaurant. 

In hindsight, it was appalling that you’d missed such a glaring inconsistency, one that had been right in front of you.

Song-Li’s was outside of Aiden’s usual orbit–so far out of it that you wondered how he’d known the place existed. You knew you hadn’t mentioned it to him and the business didn’t have much of an online presence. They catered primarily to the office dwellers native to the neighborhood and charged exorbitant delivery fees to anyone who lived outside of a two-mile radius. If you knew anything about Aiden, it was that he was a netizen to the core, with annoyingly high standards for bars and restaurants. He wouldn’t step foot in a venue that had less than fifty reviews, and Song-Li’s only had nine last time you’d checked. 

It made no sense for him to pick an unfamiliar place for such an important event, especially one with all his friends in attendance. Yet you’d seen the crowded table and watched the gifts exchange hands with your own eyes. That meant the party Friday evening hadn’t been his first visit to Song-Li’s, and that demonstrated a much deeper familiarity with the neighborhood around your office than Aiden should have had.

Like a record scratch, your mind froze, the engine of your train of thought stalling mid-cognition as something else that should’ve been obvious to you long before now unveiled itself. In retrospect, it was as blatant as a neon sign in a dark alley: Aiden hadn’t seen the dismissal coming. He’d told all his friends about the promotion, thrown himself a party, and ended things with you. Those weren’t the actions of someone who anticipated an abrupt change in their fates. He’d been blindsided. 

Another event that made no sense was Aiden’s confrontation with Lloyd. You’d assumed it stemmed from jealousy, but reflecting on it now you realized that most of Aiden’s effort had been directed towards peacocking in front of Lloyd. He’d barely even interacted with you. The aim seemed to be the preservation of his ego, driven by the need to look tough in front of his friends. Between breaking up with you in a text message and his priorities at the restaurant, it was evident that Aiden had no lingering romantic interest in you. 

The deduction was sound, except for one tiny wrinkle: Aiden had shown up at your apartment a few hours later and made a scene so loud it had woken your neighbors. His behavior wasn’t logical. Neither were his later efforts to break into your apartment. That first attempt had been inelegant, but the second was meticulously plotted. The math didn’t add up, but reviewing the equation seemed to shade in the contours of the missing variable: Aiden’s motivation. Between the confrontation with Lloyd and Aiden’s appearance at your place, something had made him do a complete one-eighty, from callous to desperate.

While much of the puzzle remained incomplete, enough had come together that it revealed the blank space. That space had taken on a distinct shape, and the dimensions of it seemed to outline Court Gentry perfectly.

There was no doubt Court knew more about your ex-boyfriend than he was letting on. He’d claimed the spy had recruited Aiden to crack the patent department’s upgraded cybersecurity, which rang true, especially since you’d already confirmed it through Landon’s source at the FBI — he’d been terminated for “suspicion of espionage.” An allegation like that from a major IT industry conglomerate wasn’t common. No competent HR department would’ve signed off on such an action without hard evidence to back their claim.

Given that Aiden had been expecting a promotion instead of a termination, you figured the company hadn’t obtained the evidence on their own. If that was the case, the only plausible explanation for his abrupt dismissal was that an outside source had provided them with proof. Everything seemed to loop back to a single point of origin with Court Gentry at the center. He had to be the company’s source.

From that revelation, it wasn’t much of a leap to conclude that he’d been investigating the spy for a lot longer than he’d let on. You tried to recall if you’d bumped into him at the casino bar or if it had been the other way around. The exact order of events escaped you, but the timing of Court’s appearance in Singapore was damning by itself—he’d shown up just days after Aiden had been fired. Lloyd had once told you there was no such thing as a coincidence with spies, and that seemed especially true in this instance.

You wondered how long it had taken Court to gather enough proof for Aiden’s company to take one look at it and dismiss him immediately. Weeks? Months? He’d produced the evidence at the end of July, and it was now the middle of September. The timeframe begged the question of how much more he’d gathered since then. Perhaps the origin of the entire investigation had been Aiden. It tracked, because accounting for their personal history, who else would’ve drawn Court’s suspicions other than Lloyd?

The thought of Court already knowing the spy was your stalker made your stomach clench. If he had investigated you, he would have been aware of the stalking. If he’d been on Lloyd’s trail in Singapore, surely he would have dug into Lloyd’s close associates, too. That he’d read you in on the details of the investigation tonight hinted that he’d already vetted you. The odds of him knowing the stalker’s identity and holding it back lit a smoldering fury in the pit of your stomach. 

“You deliberately gave me a false impression of how long you’ve been investigating the spy, didn’t you?”

Court looked up from the laptop. “Excuse me?”

“You knew the spy was my stalker. How long have you known?”

He arched an eyebrow. A too-innocent expression lit his face.

“Don’t try me,” you warned.

To your surprise, he dropped the ruse. “I’ve suspected for a while, but only found proof a few days ago.”

“You were investigating Lloyd in Singapore, weren’t you?”

Court tilted his head. “Did you just put that together?”

You ignored the sarcastic tone. “By extension, you must’ve been investigating me, too. That you’d tell me so much about the spy’s activities proves it.”

“The spy made a transmission while you were abroad, which cleared Lloyd and you, but I kept digging through Lloyd’s contacts, searching for a connection. Eventually, I found one.”

“So you know who the spy is?”

“I said I found a connection to the spy, not that I’d found him,” Court said.

“Aiden was the connection.”

“Clever. Give the girl a gold star.” 

He was trying to throw you off topic by starting a fight. You recognized the maneuver almost immediately–it was exactly how Lloyd tried to dodge questions when you first worked together. 

“You got Aiden fired almost instantly, which means you gave his company irrefutable proof he’d coordinated with the spy. What was it?” 

“He made an extra copy of the decrypted program and left it… lying around, so to speak. I turned it over to the company’s security officer.”

“Lying around? Where?”

Court’s lips twitched. “Right under your nose.”

You stared at him for a moment. “He hid it in my apartment, didn’t he?”

“It was in your kitchen pantry, buried in a bag of rice.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“I also had proof of the payments he accepted from a bank in Hong Kong. It was more than enough to get him fired, especially after his company proved that his fingerprint unlocked the phone I retrieved from your rice.”

“If you had that kind of evidence, why didn’t you just report it to the police?” 

“Because Aiden was just a symptom of a much bigger problem–a problem I didn’t have proof existed at that point.” 

“Weren’t you worried that reporting Aiden would tip off the spy?”

“I was counting on it. Sacrificing the spy’s pawn was a shot across the bow, and it worked.” 

“What else did you do?” 

"I kept Aiden under surveillance, hoping he’d lead me to the spy, but the only place he kept returning to was your apartment. Eventually, I realized he was after something there.”

“The phone hidden in my pantry, which I assume you’d already broken in and stolen.”

Court smirked. “Better me than Aiden, right? The phone proved Aiden’s involvement, but it didn’t reveal the spy’s identity. At least, not until I saw the pictures in Detective Diskant’s file.”

“You had the entire file? Including the photos? How?!”

“I blackmailed a dirty cop.”

“Which is how you knew the spy’s IP address matched the one the stalker tried to hack my computer from.”

“No. That only came to light yesterday. What caught my interest was a picture the stalker sent while you were in Qatar.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t read those messages.”

“Good choice. They were creepy,” Court said. “It was the one he took at your apartment building on July 18th.”

“What about it?”

“The metadata proves when and where it was taken.”

“… and?”

“Aiden’s messages with the spy revealed that he’d threatened the spy, saying he had an insurance policy hidden somewhere safe. If the spy tipped off his company, Aiden would use it. The spy waited a few days to respond and then texted Aiden an image of your apartment building.”

“Walk me through that slower, I’m not getting it,” you said.

“The spy was at your apartment building on Tuesday, July 18th. The metadata proves the exact date, time, and location of the photo. He waited until Friday night to send it. When I saw the same picture in Diskant’s file that I’d seen on Aiden’s phone—”

“You cloned Aiden’s phone?!”

Court shot you a sardonic look.

“Right. Never mind, of course you did. Continue.”

“I knew exactly where the spy was on that day and time. The security footage from your apartment didn’t show much, but after you were almost run down a few weeks later, I had a second chance to figure out what kind of car the suspect was driving.”

“The police tried that,” you said.

“I have a lot more time on my hands than a metro police detective and considerably fewer restrictions — both moral and legal. With a lot of legwork, I narrowed it down to a specific make and model.”

“Why would the spy take so long to send the picture to Aiden? And even longer to send it to me? By my count, he waited—”

“Three days before sending it to Aiden and ten days before sending it to you. With Aiden he timed it to coincide with his party, presumably for dramatic effect. With you, your lack of reaction annoyed him and he needed to up the ante.”

“Why did a picture of my apartment freak Aiden out? I don’t get it.” 

“Think. What was at your apartment building that would’ve drawn the spy’s interest?”

“The phone. Damn it! What did Aiden do, tell him where it was?!”

“No. But he said he’d hidden it somewhere safe, which ruled out his home or work. Your place was relatively secure yet also accessible to Aiden, so it came under suspicion quickly.”

You were struggling to follow. “Aiden kept proof of his own wrongdoing… as an insurance policy?”

“Yeah, not sure what he was thinking there. It only seemed to irritate the spy.”

“I don’t imagine it took him long to figure out where it was,” you said.

“Nope.”

“That’s what triggered the stalking, isn’t it? He came after me because of Aiden.”

“At first,” Court said. “But based on the escalation in August…”

“Right. Yeah. I know, I just…”

“Get over the denial, Princess. If anything’s clear from the police reports, it’s that this guy is insane, but he’s also patient and calculating.”

“He even set up a red herring for me to chase.”

Court nodded. “He knew about the breakup and the attempt to break into your apartment; he took advantage of Aiden’s erratic behavior to drive your suspicions in that direction.”

“What else did you uncover?”

“Diskant’s file gave me a lot more angles to work from. There are several events involving the stalker that tell me where he was and when.”

“You even got his height and build.”

“The security footage from Lloyd’s backyard was very helpful. It eliminated most my suspects,” Court said.

“Who do you think the spy is?”

“Someone who’s been hiding their talent with computers.”

“Talent? He had to get Aiden to crack the security for him.” 

“He was good enough to beat the first version in May and bypass the safeguards intended to stop the transmission of classified files. He was good enough to hack your work computer, at least for a few minutes, and he knew who to reach out to when he couldn’t get through the upgraded encryption.”

“So he’s good, but not excellent.”

“Pretty much,” Court said.

“I know you have a theory.”

“Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“I’ve been chasing answers for months. Just tell me.”

“Clayton Bishop.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The name reverberated through your mind. 

“Bishop?”  

“I’ve been analyzing his movements and the timing of certain events aligns suspiciously with activities undertaken by the spy and the stalker.” 

“But Bishop...” You couldn’t form a coherent sentence. “He wouldn’t do something like this. He's nothing like… He’s not my stalker!” 

“All the evidence points to him.” 

“There has to be another explanation.” 

“Everything keeps coming back to him.”

You fell back in the chair, stunned. Your thoughts raced as you tried to reconcile the idea of Bishop and the sadistic stalker as the same entity.

“It can’t be him.”

“Why not?” 

“He isn’t a computer expert!”

“You’re right, but he’s good with them. He learned how to code in high school and took computer science classes in college.”

“In coding languages that no longer exist, I’m sure. And computer science classes in, what, 1972? Come on, Court. Bishop isn’t my stalker.”

“I investigated everyone in the company between five-foot-seven and five-foot-nine who had the correct build, particularly those with technical backgrounds. Guess whose cell phone data puts him in your neighborhood on July 18th? Who missed a meeting on August 16th, when you were almost strangled? Think about it. He knew you were staying at Lloyd’s place and exactly when he was supposed to get home. He even recommended you go to Detective Diskant.” 

“Bishop doesn’t drive at night. He couldn’t have tried to run me down in the parking lot.”

“He claims not to drive at night, but didn’t we just walk by him in the lobby on his way out? It’s night time, isn’t it?” 

You sucked in a breath between your teeth. 

Court continued. “Accounting for locations, availability, knowing the spy’s approximate height and weight, it’s a process of elimination.”

“But Bishop is the one who bought the firm’s cybersecurity programs.” 

“That’s not a point in his favor,” he said dryly.

You considered that and stiffened. “Oh… shit.”

“You know I’m right.”

“I don’t know if you’re right, but I know Bishop has access to any computer with high-level security from the desktop in his office.”

“What?” Court asked.

“Remember how we assumed the spy would have to use the computer in the patent department?”

“Yeah.”

“Bishop wouldn’t need to be in the patent department at all.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the entire purpose of cybersecurity programs?” 

“Look, all I know is that I’ve seen him use it before. A few months ago, when Westin wouldn’t put in my hours, Bishop remoted into his computer and accessed my timecard. I forget the explanation, but the gist is that he can get into any computer, as long as they have certain types of security programs. It’s like a master key to the firm’s network. The trap we set is useless.”

Court’s jaw flexed as he returned his attention to the laptop in front of him. He punched keys and typed in commands. You circled the desk to look over his shoulder and saw the security camera footage from the hallway.

“You had access to this all along? Why didn’t you—?”

“The spy’s been scrubbing the footage,” Court said, cutting you off as he flipped between windows. He stopped on a live shot of the parking garage. “Look. Recognize anyone?”

“There’s no one in the frame.”

“Any of the cars?”

You leaned closer. There was a black car parked near the far exit.

“That’s Bishop’s car,” you said.

“That’s what I thought.”

Court expanded the window to fill the screen with the image of Bishop’s Lincoln sedan. It sat idling with its headlights on. Then the driver’s side door swung open and the familiar figure stepped out. He walked toward the sky bridge that connected the parking garage to the third floor of the law firm. 

Your heart sank. Bishop had only been pretending to leave. “Damn it. What do we do?” 

“Stay here. I’ll go have a chat with our friend.”

- - - 

It wasn’t without protest, but after he threatened to tie you to the chair, you stayed behind while Court went to confront Bishop.

You called Lloyd again, a knee-jerk reaction, like a child seeking their favorite blanket during a thunderstorm. The call went straight to voicemail. You groaned and buried your nose in the collar of Lloyd’s quarter-zip, inhaling the faint traces of his cologne. The scent calmed the roaring panic in your head and helped you organize your thoughts. 

You dialed Zach’s number, to the same result, and then tried Detective Roth. It rang and rang, eventually going to voicemail. Really? Even Roth was out of touch? He was in the middle of a search operation–his phone, at least, should be on. 

The laptop on Lloyd’s desk showed the live video feed from the patent department. You moved it to split screen and looked up the number for the Harmony Police Department. A desk sergeant picked up, and you requested to be transferred to Detective Roth.

“I’m sorry, he’s not in right now. Can I take a message, or would you like to be transferred to his office voicemail?” 

“No, thanks. I’ll just try him again later.”

You hung up and tilted your head back and stared at the ceiling. What now?

There was another option, one closer than any of the others you’d considered thus far. An armed guard was right downstairs, and the other was circulating around the building. Just a quick walk down to the lobby would greatly improve your circumstances. The idea drew you out of your seat and saw you halfway to the door before reality hit. Bishop had hired those guards. He was the founding partner in the law firm. Even if you could convince them there was a spy in the building, it was unlikely that they’d be willing to turn on their boss. 

You slumped onto the sofa. No Lloyd, no Zach, even Detective Roth wasn’t answering your calls, and the guards weren’t likely to be a help. If there was evidence you would’ve called Detective Diskant. The thought of him sparked another unpleasant realization that made your skin crawl. Bishop had pushed you to report the stalking. He’d even given you Diskant’s contact information. As a former prosecutor and someone politically well connected in the D.C. area, there were a dozen strings he could’ve pulled to have your complaint buried without your knowledge. 

On the laptop, the video feed from the patent department was stubbornly blank. Two more minutes until midnight, and the trap was still empty.

Evidence. You needed evidence. There was nothing to tie Bishop to the stalking or the spying. Weighing the odds, you decided it would be more prudent to try and prove the spying allegations since treason carried a longer prison sentence than stalking. Also, the spying had been going on longer than the stalking, so it was more likely he’d left behind evidence of those activities. This short period, while Bishop was distracted, might be the only chance to gather that proof. Bishop was a brilliant lawyer, and unless the case against him was airtight, he’d evade the allegations like an eel slipping through a net. 

What would Lloyd do if he were here? 

The question brought to mind images of Lloyd with his hands around Bishop’s throat. That wasn’t exactly something you were comfortable attempting on your own. Despite his advanced age he’d probably do more harm to you than you would to him. You amended the question: What would Lloyd tell you to do if he was here? The memory of being tailed in Singapore came back, along with Lloyd’s advice: call Jake.  

This time the phone was answered almost immediately. 

“Hey, Princess, change your mind about that ride home?” Jake asked in lieu of greeting. 

“Sort of. Don’t freak out, but I have something to tell you.” 

“Uh, sure…”

“Bishop is my stalker. He’s also been stealing government secrets from the patent department and selling them to the Chinese.” 

“What?!” 

“There’s no solid evidence to prove either claim, but there has to be something. Also, I need the combination to Lloyd’s safe.” 

“Princess, where are you?” 

“In Lloyd’s office.” 

Jake launched a volley of questions. You answered them, explaining how Court had shown up, the spying allegations, and the discovery of the IP address. As you talked, you crossed to the wall and swung open the painting to reveal the wall-safe hidden behind it. 

“And you went with him? With Court Gentry? Just like that? What were you thinking?!”

“We can get into it later. Right now, I need the passcode to the safe. I think Lloyd said it was his favorite Super Bowls by year.” 

“Stay where you are and don’t touch anything. Landon and I are on our way.” 

“How far out are you?” 

“About forty minutes,” Jake said. 

“This can’t wait. I don’t know what Court’s doing or how much evidence he has, but we wouldn’t be here if he had enough. I need the laptop you gave Lloyd, the one with all the hacking programs. You can walk me through the rest.” 

There was a murmur from the background, presumably Landon. You only caught a few clipped words of Jake’s response before he returned to the phone. 

“The code is 917889.” 

The door popped open and there, sitting on top of the pile of cash, was the laptop. You powered it up and sighed in relief when you saw it was fully charged.

“Alright. I have the laptop. We need to get something that’ll give a prosecutor reason to press charges against Bishop. I think I can get to the server room. Court said the spy’s been scrubbing the surveillance footage, but maybe there’s a backup copy? Access logs, record of key card entries… there must be something he didn’t think of.” 

Jake sighed. “Fine. Go into the safe again and grab an encrypted USB stick.”

“Got it. Why do I need this?” you asked.

“For backup. You always backup evidence, Princess. You’re going to need to get down to the second floor’s server room. Landon wants to talk to you, let me put you on speaker.”

“Princess, under the organizer tray in Lloyd’s top desk drawer there’s a ring of keys. You’ll need them to get into the server room.”

“Okay, I have them.”

“Also, there’s a square key. It’s to the skywalk between our building and the employee garage. Stop on the third floor and lock it.” 

“Why?”

“If Bishop makes a break for it, it’ll slow him down. Jake is on his tablet, hacking the security cameras as we speak. He’ll be watching your back every step of the way,” Landon said.

You tucked the keys into your pocket and secured the laptop under your arm. 

“Alright. I’m going downstairs now,” you said, slipping in one earbud and switching the call to Bluetooth.

You moved cautiously, every little noise amplified in the stillness. Jake and Landon's voices murmured in your ear as they talked quietly between themselves. Hypervigilant, you navigated the stairwell, stopping on the third floor to lock the bridge to the garage. It felt hot on the second floor, despite the thermometer in the hallway reading 71 degrees.

“I’m at the server room.”

Jake guided you to the correct key on Lloyd’s ring for the deadbolt and gave you the door code. Inside, the server room was cool and dimly lit, with a pale blue strip of LED lights along the perimeter of the ceiling providing just enough visibility. You found the computer tower in the cabinet under the desk and disconnected its HDMI and USB cables, and plugged them to the laptop, which automatically brought up a new window.

“Okay, I connected the laptop to the computer station in the server room. What now?”

“Hold on. I’m piggybacking onto your connection for a second. Let me…”

Jake trailed off, but you saw evidence of his presence on the laptop screen. Windows opened and closed, then a terminal popped up, and lines of code began appearing at a rate faster than any normal human could type.

“There. I took care of the firewalls. You shouldn’t have a problem now.”

“Wait. If you can piggyback off the laptop, why can’t you do this part, too?”

“Princess, looking through these files requires a much larger screen than I have on my tablet, and an actual keyboard. Not to mention that the tower is connected to a dozen different servers. It’s like a maze to navigate and the interface isn’t user-friendly. I can’t even get it to display on my tablet.” 

Landon’s voice came over the line. “Jake, get a bead on where Bishop is.”

“I already did. He went into his office a few minutes ago and Court Gentry followed just after. Princess, I’m going to need you to get into the keycard logs. It’ll tell us who opened what doors and when.”

You followed Jake’s instructions to access the keycard database. 

“Start with the patent department last week at 11:49 P.M.—that’s just before the stalker tried to hack your work laptop.” 

“I’ve got a list of dates and times. The keycards are listed under employee numbers, though.” 

“Give me the numbers, I can look them up.”

“There’s two that look suspicious. One is from a guard and the other is registered to number #000.”

“Wait. What? It’s a guest user?”

“I don’t know, but their employee number is just three zeros,” you said. 

“That’s a guest pass user. Scroll over to the far right column and check their permissions.”

“It’s blank.”

“It can’t be blank,” Jake said. 

“This one is.” 

“How far back do the logs go?”

“Only a couple weeks. Let me check where Bishop’s keycard has been used… Huh. He’s been here late at night a lot lately. Like, around midnight. That’s unusual.” 

The silence on the other end of the line was palpable. 

“We're only a mile away,” Landon said. 

That would’ve made you feel better, but even at this time of night, traffic would be congested the closer they got to the city center. Soon they’d be slowed to a crawl. You turned back to the computer. 

“I cross-checked Bishop’s key card with the patent department door. For the past few weeks he’s gone in and out almost every morning at around 7:40 AM.” 

“How long are the visits?” Jake asked.

“A little over twenty minutes each. What about the surveillance footage? Court said the spy’s been scrubbing it, but there must be a backup.”

Jake directed you on how to get into the video storage server. After the connection finally loaded, you scrolled through the frames, tapping your nails on the counter as you examined the images. 

There was footage showing Bishop coming and going from the patent department, his office, and through the lobby. None of it looked suspicious. Finally, you found the video of the patent department last week during the hacker’s attempt. 

“The video’s just a black screen.” 

Jake groaned. “Damn it. He’s literally been scrubbing the footage, hasn’t he? I know that program. It sends a damaged file to the backup server which interprets it as blank.” 

“What else? We track computer logins, right?” 

“That’s on a different server.”

Getting into the computer records server was another ordeal, which resulted in you getting kicked out of the system twice when it suddenly recognized you as an intruder. Jake had to remote in again and take down another firewall. Finally, you opened the database screen.

“Start by looking at Bishop’s logins, then check for the ghost guest card,” Jake instructed. 

You searched the database and waited as the results filtered, dumping out into a clunky excel spreadsheet. “Yikes, this is a lot. It goes back almost to January. Everything is listed as his own computer, though.”

“Find out who was using the patent department’s computer during the attempted hack.” 

The computer produced the results of your inquiry at a sluggish, belligerent pace.

“Okay. The ghost guest pass is on this list. It’s the only one with blank permissions, so I can easily identify it. Also, there’s this random account that’s been accessing the computer remotely. It shows up several times a day.” 

After a brief analysis, he clucked his tongue. “Ah, I know that account. It’s just the IT department’s keystroke logger.” 

“Excuse me? Keystroke logger? I did not consent to a keystroke logger on my computer.”

“You only have to consent if it's monitoring you. This doesn’t save any official data–it identifies users by their typing patterns. The program’s being trained right now. They’re planning to introduce it in next year’s security update.” 

“Doesn’t everyone type the same?”

“Actually, typing is surprisingly unique. It’s almost like handwriting. People press keys differently, move from one key to the next with certain patterns, and use different rhythms. They’re subtle differences but taken together it’s enough for keystroke dynamic programs to create unique profiles for each user.” 

“Mmmhh. Delightful,” you muttered. 

“Give me a second, I don’t have access to that database, but…” 

“–but you can fix that,” you said, finishing Jake’s sentence. 

“I just did and guess what? We’re in luck. The keystroke logger went into beta-testing on the first of August.” 

“Which helps us… how?”

“We need to identify the owner of the ghost guest pass and the keystroke logger can do just that. Download the login spreadsheet and save it. Then I want you to run a search for any other activity under that pass.” 

“I have to access a different part of the server to do that, don’t I?”

“Sorry, Princess. You’re going to get back into the keycard access logs.”

“Great.” 

You wove your way back through the maze to find the correct server and followed Jake’s directions. The search of the keycard logs only brought up one result. 

“There was one instance when the guest pass was used. It unlocked the elevators last week, on the night of the hacking attempt.”

“Pull up the surveillance footage, if there is any. You need to–”

“I’ve got it. There’s a video file.” 

You fast-forwarded through the file to the timestamp where the keycard logger recorded its use. A figure entered the car, but he kept his head down and stood close to the cameras. All that was visible in the frame was some gray hair.

“Jake, I’ve got something. Whoever used that pass knew where the camera was. They’re standing too close for it to capture their face, but the top of his head is visible. I can see silver hair, and that’s it.”

“I’m seeing it too,” Jake confirmed. “Is that the right color? I thought Bishop’s hair was more white than silver.”

“You’re right. The hair on camera is dark gray and wavy. Bishop’s is silver and fine.”

“Is there any footage of him getting off the elevator?” Jake asked.

“Kind of. It's grainy, and I can’t make out much more than a shadow.”

“Send it over. I have a program that might clear it up.” 

“Done,” you said, tapping a key.

After a few minutes, Jake spoke again. “Got it. You’re right. The person using the elevator wasn’t Bishop. The restored footage isn’t great, but even with the artifacts, you can tell the figure it captured is about fifty pounds lighter than Bishop.”

You let your head fall back, inhaling through your nose. Relief surged along with frustration. You were glad Bishop wasn’t your stalker, but the setback was still disappointing.

“Are you still there Princess?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I got into the keystroke logger database, but I need you to do something for me.” 

“Okay.”

Under Jake’s direction, you navigated to a file storage area. “Uh… what am I even looking at?”

“Screen recordings.” 

“Of what?”

“Guest pass users. There’s a counter security measure where anyone using a guest pass on a workstation outside of regular hours is subject to random screen recordings.”

“Wouldn’t Bishop know that?” you asked. 

“Yes. That’s why I doubted he was the stalker after you found the guest pass. Search for any screen recordings created on Thursday of last week, originating from the patent department computer. Check around the time your computer was hacked. If there’s a recording, we’ve got the spy’s identity for sure.” 

You scanned through the records. “I have several files from 11 P.M. and 1 A.M., but there’s nothing that shows what computer they’re from.” 

“Download all of them to the laptop and copy the file to the USB,” Jake said. 

“Alright.”

“Now I want you to check something on the VPN server. Look up Bishop’s logins the night of your hit and run. August 13th, I think.” 

With a sigh, you went through the tedious process of changing servers again. It was a lot more fun to watch Jake hack than doing it yourself. 

“There’s a couple logins in the afternoon,” you said. “What am I looking for?”

“How long was the last login that day?”

“Four hours.” 

“What device was it from?” 

“His home computer. When I click into the file, it shows me his location. He was miles away when that car tried to hit me.” 

“It doesn’t prove that he was actually there, but it's something.” 

Landon’s voice came over the line. “Princess, check if there are emails mentioning cybersecurity updates during June or July.”

“Right. That’s a good idea. The update forced the spy to seek Aiden’s help. Princess–” 

“What do you mean ‘good idea’?” you interrupted.

“Cybersecurity updates usually only happen in the first quarter. However, someone threw a roadblock in front of the spy by installing those programs. I want to know who it was.”

“You think someone knew there was a spy,” Jake said.

“Yeah, I do,” Landon replied.

Jake walked you through how to query the emails and scan their content with a series of SQL commands. You then let the computer scan through the labyrinth of messages for mentions of security upgrades in June and July.

A few minutes later you announced the results. “Bishop made the request. He emailed the head of the IT department on July 2nd asking for a meeting. Their later emails discuss when to implement the upgrade. Also, security didn’t get upgraded everywhere–it was only in the patent department.”

“That might explain why his keycard was used at their door so much over the last month,” Landon said. 

“And it clears him of being our spy. If he was spying, he wouldn’t make it harder on himself to transmit.” 

“I have a two-minute screen recording from the guest user,” Jake announced. “Guess what? Bishop’s keystroke logger signature doesn’t match the spy’s. Gentry was wrong–Bishop’s definitely not the stalker, or the spy.” 

You sat back, the weight of the revelation sinking in. Like Aiden, Bishop had been another red herring. 

 “So who is it?” you asked Jake.

“I don’t know, but there’s plenty of evidence. We’ll figure everything out soon. Jake and I are only five minutes away. Go to Lloyd’s office and lock the door. We’ll be there before you know it.” 

- - - 

The call with Jake and Landon broke up as they went through the 3rd Street Tunnel. You shoved the earbud into your pocket with the USB drive and ascended the stairs to the fourth floor. Your heart pounded in a mix of excitement and dread. The laptop was hard to grip with your sweaty palms, so you hugged it to your chest. Reaching Lloyd’s office felt like stepping onto dry land after a month at sea. You pushed open the door, surprised to find the lights had been turned off, leaving the desk lamp as the room’s sole source of illumination. You paused, letting your eyes adjust, when a movement in the shadows caught your attention.

A figure stepped out from behind the desk. As soon as the light hit his face, you recognized the intruder.

Westin Tafferty. The man who’d spent the last six months making your life miserable, micromanaging and nagging you at every turn.

“Westin,” you whispered.

An icy smile spread over his face. “Hello, Princess.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Westin asked, stepping closer.

He’d always been a thorn in your side, but you’d never imagined he could be behind the stalking, the espionage.

“It was you all along.”

Westin laughed, but there was no warmth in it. “Very good, Princess. Such a clever girl.”

You needed to buy time. Landon and Jake were on their way. You had to keep him talking.

“You coward. You spend months harassing me from behind a screen and then hide in the dark? You’re pathetic.”

He smiled, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Such harsh words. You don’t understand anything.”

“Then explain it.”

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, but his expression cleared just as quickly. A placid smile settled over his face like a mask.

“I’d rather not,” Westin said.

“You’re afraid of confrontation, aren’t you? If you expressed yourself, everyone would see all that bottled-up rage. So you used me as an emotional punching bag.”

Westin’s smile faded into a cold stare. “You’ve become a problem for me, Princess. And problems need to be dealt with.”

You gripped the laptop tighter, suddenly remembering how it had felt to have his hands around your neck a month ago. He wanted to kill you. Where were the guys? Shouldn’t they be here by now? It felt like an eternity had passed. You scrambled to think of a diversion but blurted out the truth instead.

“Jake and Landon are on their way. They’ll be here any minute. You won’t get away with this.”

“Then I guess I don’t have much time,” Westin said.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun, pointing it at you. With the gun he gestured toward the door. “Drop the laptop on the sofa. You’re coming with me.”

With the weapon trained on you, there was no other choice but to comply. You set the laptop down and stepped back. Westin kept his eyes on you as he moved to the sofa and snatched it. Your heart sank at the prospect of what was about to become of the device, but you still had the USB hidden in your pocket. Jake and Landon would be here soon. You just had to stay alive until they got here.

Carrying the laptop under his arm, Westin led you out of the office and down the hall to the elevator. On the ride down, your mind raced with potential escape plans, but the cold metal of the gun pressed against your back kept you in check.

The elevator descended to the third floor, opening in front of the exit to the skywalk to the employee parking garage. You tugged on the door. It didn’t budge. Westin cursed and dug in his pocket for keys.

As he fumbled with the lock, you saw your chance. Right outside the door, in the breezeway there was a trash can with an ashtray fixed atop the lid. While Westin’s attention was on the lock, you slipped the USB drive between your first and middle fingers. The lock clicked open and when Westin turned to you, expectantly you didn’t move. He seized your elbow and yanked you forward. Your stumble wasn’t entirely pretend as the momentum propelled you through the doorway. You grabbed the trash can lid for balance, shoving your fingers into the tray of cigarette butts and burying the USB drive under the ashes. Westin grabbed your arm and shoved the gun in your ribs. His grip tightened like a vise and he held you against his side for the rest of the walk to the parking garage.

In the garage, he led you to his car, a sleek Lincoln sedan. “Get in. You’re driving.”

You slid behind the wheel, hands trembling as you fastened your seat belt. Keeping the gun trained on you, Westin climbed into the passenger seat.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“Just drive. I’ll tell you where to go.”

You navigated out of the parking garage, the weight of the situation setting in. From the corner of your eye, you glanced at Westin.

“Why me, Westin?” 

He laughed, a bitter sound. “You were just an annoyance at first. But then I realized you were close to Lloyd; that made you the perfect target.”

“Lloyd? What does Lloyd have to do with this?”

“I’m not actually a paralegal. My entire resume is a government sanctioned lie. It was part of the separation package when the National Security Agency kicked me to the curb.”

“You worked with Lloyd.”

“He made my life hell for five years, then didn’t even remember me. That kind of disrespect demands a response.”

“So harassing me is your twisted idea of revenge?” you asked, incredulous.

“No. Killing you will be my revenge. Making you miserable was just the build up. I had a front-row seat to watch as Lloyd got more and more wound up, chasing shadows, never really getting anywhere. He doesn’t give a damn about anything or anyone other than you — you’re his Achilles heel. And of course, I’ve enjoyed this little game immensely.” 

The car made the last turn down the ramp. In the dash, the clock read 1:00 A.M. Jake and Landon must be close 

“You won’t get away with this.”

Westin snorted. “We’ll see about that.” 

Letting him take you out of the building hadn’t been smart, but if you went with him to a secondary location, you were as good as dead. 

“Turn right,” Westin said. 

You hit the blinker and turned onto the street. At the intersection the light was red. You rolled to a stop. It was the same light you’d been stuck at with Court a couple hours ago, though on the opposite side. The flood lights in the median where the underground work was being done were off now. You stared at the empty work site, surrounded by concrete K-rails that barricaded the construction workers from passing vehicles.  

Going through the light would be another step down a slippery slope. If you drove through it, how much further would you keep going? Out of the neighborhood? Past the city limits? Each meter he took you further away from the firm lowered your chances of survival.

Your fingers squeezed the steering wheel as you debated tossing open the door and booking it. You’d have to undo your seatbelt first. That would give Westin reaction time. He could easily shoot you in a nonlethal spot and force you to keep driving. It would never work; running was out of the question. 

“Why is this damn light so slow,” Westin complained.

His comment drew your eyes back to the stoplight, then down, to the construction site in the median. Your heart thudded. Suddenly it raced in triple time. Nervous saliva flooded your mouth. Oh, this was a bad idea, even worse than trying to run. 

It was a game of chance, like rock, paper, scissors. At the moment there was no other option. You had to risk it.

Rock, paper, scissors… 

Rock.

The light turned green. You hit the gas pedal, shoving it to the floor and turning the wheel to the right–straight toward the K-rails in the median. 

The car slammed into the concrete pony walls and the steering wheel lurched as Westin tried to grab it. 

Your head snapped back. After a dazed moment you registered that the airbag had gone off. Your ears were ringing. You didn’t know why your ears were ringing. Were airbags loud? 

You felt something wet on the side of your face and hoped you hadn’t hit a fire hydrant. When you touched the wetness, your fingers came away bloody. That was surprising, because your head didn’t hurt. As soon as the thought crossed your mind your head began to hurt. It stung and sizzled with discomfort. You winced, then suddenly remembered Westin. You whirled to face him but the movement made your neck seize. Pain whipped down your spine, triggering a spasm that rippled through your whole body. 

Maybe wrecking head-on into a K-rail hadn’t been the best idea. 

You took a deep breath and turned slower to avoid another spasm. Westin was slumped in the passenger seat, his head resting on the dashboard. He wasn’t moving. You yanked the door handle. It was stuck. You pulled harder, shoving against the door with your thigh, then slamming your body into it. The movement hurt, but adrenaline covered the pain well enough that you kept fighting with the twisted frame until it groaned, metal grinding against metal as it finally yielded. You swung your legs out, exhilarated by the success–only for the seat belt to clamp down, jerking you back into the car. 

Damn it. You fumbled for the release. 

Westin groaned. You groped for the button, trying to trace the belt back to the clasp, but it was buried between the console and the seat. With blood in your eyes and the darkness of the construction site, you couldn’t see anything.

From the corner of your eye, you glimpsed movement and jerked back. Without your body blocking them, the street lamps illuminated the seat, revealing Westin clearly. He was still slumped over, but he’d shifted to face you, positioning himself with his back against the passenger door. 

Blood streamed from a large gash on his forehead. In his hands was the gun. There was a flash of light from the muzzle. It was the last thing you saw. 

After that, everything was dark.

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Next - Chapter XXIX

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Masterlist

[sofyreneko]

hc that one thing everyone in the batfamily knows without doubt is: alfred knows everything. hidding anything from alfred is a waste of time and energy, because he always just knows. so they simply don’t. they dont need to tell him, but they dont need to hide it, he always knows anyways.

however, the thing is alfred is just a regular old man who spends all of his time cleaning, cooking and making sure they dont die. he doesnt have time to be figuring out what the bat ninjas he has for a family are hidding so most often than not he doesnt know. it doesnt help that no one in the family ever tells him anything, because they expect him to just know. he just has a really really good poker face and an inability to be surprised by much so everyone just assumes he already knew once he discovers anything.

[tigers1o1]

Arcane s2 spoilers

“But Caitlyn lost her mom but but but she redeemed herself by betraying and battling ambessa but she let jinx go but shes not a bad person but shes-“ no.

She IS a bad person. More than that, shes a WAR CRIMINAL. She GASSED the people of the undercity and then when her stupid ass political decision turned out to be a stupid ass political decision, she got the ones that DIDNT get gassed to join her fucking army and die for a cause they never asked to be a part of. She lost her mother, yes, but she was a grown ass adult when she did. Vi and powder were orphaned before they turned 10. I am not downplaying the grief of a loss that monumental but.

Dawg she used her mother’s greatest act of charity against her own people. Caitlyn gassed the undercity bc she wanted vengeance against a single, mentally unwell teenager.

“But but she lost an eye and was almost publicly executed and her actions speak louder than words and” yeah dawg? She became a DICTATOR. Thats kinda what happens to dictators??

Sure, shes your little blorbo, your little meow meow that did nothing wrong. But to me, shes a fucking nepo baby that was racist the whole fucking show, disrespected her mothers wishes after her mother was murdered, committed a war crime, became a dictator, started a war and then got what was coming at her. She did not show remorse for what she did to the citizens of the undercity, she never admitted to seeing them on equal footing. Sure, her influence is probably what put sevika on the council and maybe that would have gone more in depth if the writers didnt have to cut a bunch of stuff, but putting a zaunite in a position of power is not an apology for putting all of zaun in danger multiple times and seeing them as animals the whole show.

She is not a good person. No one in that show is. Thats the POINT.