“Assistant, maybe I have to run from here. So when I do, you’ll signal all the nearby devices — and if they respond, they’ll catch fire,” I whispered.

“When I say my key, turn the power off,” I added.

“System processing,” came the calm reply.

“We have a problem, 678. You might want to listen to this,” my assistant warned, then played a clipped voice:

“Boss — he’s here.”
A pause, then another voice: “Let him come.”

That single line sent cold down my spine. It was everything I didn’t want to hear. Maybe I should leave.

I moved from my hiding place and shoved everything back into my bag. When I heard the camera click, my heart stopped. My hands trembled; my breathing grew uneven. I forced myself to take long, slow breaths. This was not the time to panic. I had to handle it carefully.

“678,” I said.

The lights went off. Time for some hacking swag.

I ran the route my assistant fed me. Not long after, I heard voices and footsteps behind me — people were chasing. Of course they could tell where I’d gone.

When someone came too close, I whispered, “Now,” and the devices that had caught my signals detonated in a burst of controlled chaos. Screams ripped through the VIP area as people ran in every direction like fools.

I reached the spot I’d planned and slammed the back door of the VIP wing behind me. I was on the top floor — according to my intel, this was the leader’s office, or it had been. I would surely find something here.

“678,” I said slowly, and the lights flickered back on.

Shelves upon shelves of books and files filled the room. I moved straight to the main desk and froze: my file lay there — with no name and a blurry picture of mine.

What was wrong?

My heart pounded so hard I felt it in my throat. I pressed a hand to my chest and tried to breathe, but it didn’t help. They had found out about me. The realization hit like a physical blow.

I moved out as swiftly as I could. With camera access still under my control, I knew I could slip away unseen. Huh — officially a hacker, but there was no time to enjoy it.

When the cold night breeze hit my face outside, I felt a little of the tension melt. I booked a cab and set the destination for my rented apartment. Maybe I should stop for now. I wanted to enjoy my friend’s wedding, but could I really step back now? I didn’t think I could.

Lost in thought, I didn’t notice the black car that slowed and stopped behind me until it was too late. Before I could run, a hand grabbed my neck, the pressure shocking me, and darkness closed around my vision.

When I woke, I was in a dark room. My hijab was still on — a small comfort — and all my gear was still with me. The bad part: my hands were tied so tight they burned. They must know now I was a girl. I hoped they hadn’t realized that earlier.

My breaths came shallow. No one would come to save me. No one knew where I was. The thought hit me harder than any blow: what if my friends never found me? What would they do? I’d dreamed of love, of a future husband, of first kisses — and now it felt like I might never meet any of it.

I swallowed the panic. Death was a dark thought that flickered through my head — but I was Muslim. I couldn’t give up. They had brought me here; now all I could do was hope my laptop still held a trick.

“Assistant — it’s 678,” I whispered.

“System processing. Battery low,” the voice answered after a moment.

“Shut down nonessentials but stay connected. Save power,” I instructed, forcing a small, stubborn smile. Maybe I could escape.

Footsteps approached. I was in a small, windowless room, dirty and cold. Then the door opened and two men stepped in.

I counted their steps and judged their stride — because my life depended on knowing everything. They grabbed my arms and yanked me up. Reflex took over: I twisted free, slipped from their grasp, and bolted.

Had anyone told them how prisoners can free their hands while sitting? Apparently not, or they’d have known.

I slammed the door behind me and raced for the elevator, punching the top-floor button. When the doors opened at the top, I hurried out. There was one large door on this floor. I pushed it open and stepped into darkness, slamming it shut and turning the lock.

Hands on my chest, I breathed deep, trying to steady myself. For a moment I allowed the silence to calm me — then I moved to look around.

Someone was sitting behind a large desk in the dim light, watching me. Their smirk cut across the room, and those blue-green eyes — impossibly calm — fixed on me.

The chair creaked as he leaned forward, resting an elbow on the desk, smirk still painted across his face. Those blue-green eyes locked on me like they were peeling my soul apart.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice smooth and sharp at once. “So this is the ghost that’s been haunting my systems.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, but I kept my hood low, my face shadowed. My hands ached where the ropes had burned my wrists. I couldn’t afford to let him see weakness.

“You walked right into my Business,” he continued, rising slowly from the chair. The way he moved—measured, confident—made my chest tighten. “No one ever makes it this far. Not alive.”

I clenched my jaw. “Maybe you should update your records, then.”

He chuckled, low and amused, like I was some joke he was enjoying far too much. His steps echoed as he circled the desk and came closer. I shifted back, calculating distance, doors, the way out—but he was already between me and freedom.

“You hide behind the name H King,” he said, tilting his head. “Clever. Everyone thinks you’re a man. It bought you time. But masks don’t last forever.” His eyes dropped to the edge of my hood. “Tell me, little hacker… what are you really hiding under there?”

My stomach twisted. My heart wanted to race, but I forced it to steady. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I met his gaze, silent, burning with defiance.

He smiled wider, almost delighted by my resistance. “Brave. Or foolish. I can’t decide.” He stopped just a breath away, his presence overwhelming, his cologne sharp and clean with a hint of smoke. He reached out, his hand slow, deliberate, toward the edge of my hood.

Every nerve in my body screamed to act. My muscles tensed. One wrong move and I was finished. But I couldn’t let him see me—not yet.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice low, trembling but steady enough to carry weight. “Touch me, and you’ll regret it.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then he laughed—an echo in the dark room. “Regret? No, little hacker. The only thing I regret…” He leaned in, close enough that I felt his breath against my cheek. “…is not finding you sooner.”