Sana’s POV

The way I live is strange. To people, it looks good. They think I’m doing fine because they only see one side of the picture.

Some say every picture has two sides, but mine has more than that. Time will reveal them.

The side everyone sees now is simple: I’m a good badminton player. They believe it’s my career.

I’m twenty one years old. I started playing at the national level when I was seventeen, and now I compete internationally. I’ve loved badminton from the start, but it isn’t my only career. I don’t tell anyone about the others.

When I was five, my parents died in an “accident.” My father was an investigator, working on a crucial case, when someone killed him and kidnapped his family. They shot my mother on the spot and took us—my brother and me. My brother died saving me. That story isn’t for today, but it shaped everything. My aunt raised me, but I never moved on.

I will take revenge.

Since childhood, I wanted to be a hacker. I’ve read newspapers, listened to the news daily, and made notes. Why? Because I want to investigate, but secretly. I’m still looking for threads tied to my father’s case.

What I’ve noticed is… strange. There are cases that seem connected. People found dead in different places—but not just anyone. These were the most wanted criminals, predators who had raped teenagers. That’s the only thing they had in common.

Still, I can’t find the missing piece. No paper, no trace, no sign. No one is going to tell me anything. I have to find it myself.

These cases don’t match my father’s, but nothing in this world is straightforward. Maybe the link is simple, maybe it’s buried deep. Either way, I’ll find it.

With those thoughts, I opened my laptop and noted down the location and time of each case as recorded by the police.

I typed in my secret code, the one I use to access any device I want. Every hacker has a code. Mine is mine alone.

I’m not a Red Hood hacker—the ones who break into computers just for fun.
I’m a White Hood—what people call an ethical hacker. We find problems in systems and fix them.

But there are other kinds too.
Black Hood hackers are suicidal. They hack recklessly, leave their tracks, and get caught easily. That’s why they’re called suicidal.

Right now, I was checking how many networks and mobiles were active near the crime scenes within twenty-four hours of each murder. My plan was to hack those numbers, find their locations, and build a pattern.

It wasn’t easy for me. I’d never tried something like this since that one horrible mistake. I buried that memory quickly. All I knew was this: no one could be better at hacking than me. Hacking is my passion. My profession. I won’t let anyone beat me at it.

When I detected some devices—as I expected— I pinned down each one. I scanned them carefully and made a list. When the list was ready, I clicked Print. While the printer began its job, I decided to make myself a cup of tea.

I walked downstairs quietly. I didn’t want to wake my family. The house isn’t big or special, but it’s home — beautiful to me. There are four bedrooms: mine, my cousin Lucas’s, my aunt and uncle’s, and a guest room that belongs to no one. Everyone sleeps downstairs except me; I asked my aunt for the upstairs room and she agreed after checking everything for my safety.

After making tea, I walked back up. I entered my room, shut the door, and locked it. Sitting at my desk with the warm cup in hand, I spread the printed papers and began cross-checking.

I searched for three long hours. After matching similar contacts at each location, I found four suspicious numbers. There must be a link between these four devices. They were all mobile phones, and I could track their networks—but first I had to double-check. I didn’t want to disturb anyone.

To confirm, I planned to check their location histories. If they looked suspicious, I would dig into their calls and messenger data, then trace their movements for the year. That could take at least two days—partly because I’m lazy, and partly because I wanted to wait for the next activation to be sure.

Right now, though, it was almost two a.m. If I didn’t sleep I’d ruin my health, and I had a big match to practice for in a few days. I could always ask my besties for help—and I was sure they’d be thrilled.

I put the papers aside, tried to push the investigation from my mind, and thought of peaceful memories. Gradually, I drifted into a deep, relaxing sleep.