Crossed Lines

Elara’s POV

The coffee was perfect.

Not the kind of perfect that came from an overpriced espresso machine or a barista with a sleeve of ironic tattoos. No, this was the quiet, honest kind. Freshly ground beans, a steady pour, and just enough sugar to make the bitterness hum instead of bite.

I cupped the mug between my palms and let the steam curl into my face. Outside the wide kitchen window, morning light spilled over the sleepy Washington suburb I’d chosen like a sanctuary. No paparazzi. No scheming relatives. No whispers about “the Duval’s fortune.”

My laptop sat open on the countertop. Two tabs were visible: one for Byte & Beam, the small software consulting firm I co-owned with Hailey, and another that looked, to any casual observer, like an empty email inbox. But behind three layers of encryption, a different screen waited, one with incoming pings, each marked with a symbol only I can recognize.

My phone buzzed on the counter. I ignored it. The only people who called me this early were my stepmother, my stepsister, or a client with no concept of time zones. One group was infinitely worse than the other.

My stepmother, Clarisse, had called twice last night, leaving voicemails dripping with feigned sweetness. We just want to check in, dear. It’s been too long. Which could only mean that she has found another angle to pry into my life.

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts.

“Open up, Elara! I brought muffins before I eat them all.”

I smiled despite myself and set my coffee down. Only Hailey would dare show up unannounced before 8 a.m. She was my neighbor, my unofficial watchdog, and the closest thing I had to a sister, if only sisters came with a loud laugh and an unshakable talent for reading people.

She swept into the kitchen with a bakery bag and a pair of sunglasses pushed into her messy bun. “You’re welcome,” she said, plopping the bag onto the counter. “Blueberry. Still warm.”

I took one and bit into it. “You know bribery is unnecessary.”

“Bribery?” She leaned on the counter, eyeing me. “I call it self-preservation. You’ve been holed up in here for three days. And don’t tell me it’s just work, your face says you’ve been dodging the Duvel's circus again.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t answer.

“That bad?” she pressed.

“Worse. Clarisse called twice last night.”

Hailey groaned. “Let me guess, ‘for the good of the family’?”

I smiled faintly. “You know the script.”

She studied me for a beat, then said, “You need to get out more. Meet people. Preferably the kind who don’t want to drain your bank account or your sanity”. “No, perhaps you have to come to the office instead of working remotely” she mumbled.

I laughed softly and reached for my coffee. “I’m fine, Hailey. I like my life exactly as it is.”

But as I turned to the counter, my laptop chimed, the subtle encrypted alert only I could see. Another client request. My pulse quickened despite myself. One tap, and the details unfolded:

> Urgent: System breach detected. Level Red. ShadowByte recommended. Client: CrossTech.

I froze. Of all the companies in the country, it had to be his. Damon Cross. Billionaire tech magnate. Business shark. The man who once dismissed my work in a single, lazy sentence during a conference I hadn’t even wanted to attend.

I could still remember the exact words, because they had been delivered with the kind of arrogant certainty only a man with too much money and too little humility could manage: "Impressive code for a hobbyist."

Hobbyist.

I clicked “decline” without hesitation. Some clients weren’t worth the money, not even his kind of money.

Some storms you could see on the horizon. This one had a name, a face, and a voice I’d sworn I’d never hear again.

Damon’s POV

The boardroom smelled of polished wood and quiet panic.

Three top executives sat across from me, fidgeting like schoolboys waiting to be punished. Jared, head of cybersecurity, was the only one willing to meet my eyes. That was either bravery or stupidity.

“We’ve confirmed the breach,” he said, sliding a tablet toward me. “They were in our server for at least three hours before we caught it. They knew exactly where to look.”

I skimmed the report without sitting down. “Which means?”

“Which means,” Jared replied carefully, “They made away with encrypted data, we have to find them before they decode it, cause if that happens, they could sell it and CrossTech’s credibility will take a hit we may not recover from.”

The other two executives shifted in their seats. I could feel their eyes darting toward me, waiting to see if I’d explode. I didn’t. Anger was a luxury for people who couldn’t afford control.

“What’s the fix?” I asked.

“ShadowByte,” Jared said without hesitation.

The name was familiar. I’d heard it whispered in certain circles - the best coder in the world. Untraceable. Untouchable. The kind of talent who could make a problem like this disappear without leaving a footprint.

“Then hire them,” I said, setting the tablet down.

Jared’s throat bobbed. “We tried. They… declined.” I looked at him. Just looked. The way you’d look at a man who’d told you the laws of gravity had changed overnight.

“They don’t know who they’re saying no to,” I said finally.

“I made it clear,” he replied.

“Apparently not clear enough.” I straightened, my patience already thinning. “Find out who they are. Real name. Address. Everything. If they breathe, I want to know when and where.”

Jared hesitated. “You want to handle it personally?”

“Exactly.”

He nodded, wisely not asking questions.

People didn’t tell me no. Not in business, not in life. When I wanted something, I got it and I didn’t chase. I trapped.

And ShadowByte? Whoever they were, they’d just made the mistake of stepping into my sights.

Damon’s POV

The next morning.

The floor-to-ceiling windows of his office overlooked the heart of the city. From up here, the city looked orderly, almost obedient. That illusion kept him sane.

“Your eight o’clock is waiting,” said Ethan Voss, his chief of staff and the closest thing Damon had to a friend.

“Tell him to wait longer,” Damon replied without looking up from the file in front of him.

Ethan didn’t flinch. He was used to Damon’s disregard for schedules, everyone else bent to Damon’s time, not the other way around.

“It’s about the ShadowByte contract.” Ethan has been tracking ShadowByte for the past 24 hours.

Damon’s eyes lifted. “Still no lead?”

“Nothing we can trace. Whoever they are, they’re clean. Cleaner than anyone I’ve seen.” Ethan slid a thin folder onto the desk. “No code signatures, no repeated routing paths. Every trace ends in a dead drop server.”

Damon flipped the folder open. A few printouts showed lines of c