<b>Chapter </b><b>226 </b>
Jade’s POV:
:
06
The familiar blue light of myptop illuminated my face as <b>I </b>scrolled through the dark web forum. <b>I </b>smirked at the frantic messages from users begging for my attention–people who’d spent years trying to track my digital footprint were now falling over themselves just to get a response.
A new post in the forum caught my eye. It was from Y–Ethan’s alias.
<b>Y</b><b>: </b><i>I </i><i>know </i>it’s <i>presumptuous</i><i>, </i><i>but </i><i>I’ve </i><i>admired your </i><i>work </i><i>for </i><i>years</i><i>, </i><i>X. </i><i>Any </i><i>chance </i><i>you’d </i>consider <i>taking </i>me under <b>your </b><i>wing</i>? <i>I’d </i><i>be </i><i>honored </i><i>to </i><i>learn </i>from <i>the </i><i>best</i><i>. </i>
Before I could respond, the forum exploded with reactions.
<b>Syn</b><b>: </b>Look <i>at </i><i>this </i><i>newbie </i><i>trying </i><i>to </i>cozy <i>up </i><i>to </i><i>the </i><i>legend</i><i>. </i><i>Pathetic</i>.
<b>Null</b><b>: </b><i>Y </i><i>thinks </i><i>he </i><i>can </i><i>just </i><i>waltz </i><i>in </i><i>and be </i>X’s <i>apprentice</i>? <i>Get </i><i>in </i><i>line</i><i>, </i><i>buddy</i>.
<b>Krypt</b><b>: </b><i>Fresh </i><i>meat </i><i>trying </i><i>to </i><i>skip </i><i>the </i><i>hierarchy</i>. That’s <i>not </i><i>how </i><i>this </i><i>works</i>.
I watched the messages flood in, amused by their territorial behavior. The elite hackermunity had always been fiercelypetitive.
With deliberate slowness, I typed a simple response:
<b>X</b><b>: </b><i>Wing </i><i>extended</i>.
The chat went dead silent for three seconds–an eternity in digital conversation–before erupting into chaos.
<b>Null</b>: WHAT THE ACTUAL <i>FUCK</i>?
<b>Krypt</b><b>: </b>Did <i>X </i><b><i>just</i></b><i>… </i><b>ept </b>a <i>newbie</i><b><i>? </i></b>
<b>Syn</b><b>: </b>This has to be a <i>joke</i>.
Rkt: Is this really <i>happening</i>?
<b>Flux</b><b>: </b><i>This </i>seems suspicious. X hasn’t been active for <i>years</i><i>, </i>then suddenly appears to wee Y, and now <i>is </i><i>offering </i><i>mentorship</i><i>? </i><i>They </i>must <i>know </i><i>each </i>other <i>IRL</i><i>. </i>
<b>Vex</b><b>: </b><i>X</i>, <i>if </i>you’re taking students, I’ve been here for <i>FIVE </i><i>YEARS</i>. What about me?
<b>Phantom</b><b>: </b><b><i>X</i></b><i>, </i>I’ve contributed to three major security <i>protocols</i><i>. </i>I’m <i>clearly </i>more <i>qualified </i>than Y.
<b>8:01 </b><b>Fri</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>26 </b><b>T </b>
…
<b>Hex</b><b>: </b><i>This </i>is <i>bullshit</i><i>. </i><i>Y </i>hasn’t <i>proven </i><i>anything </i>except <i>solving </i>one challenge.
I leaned back in my chair, enjoying the chaos I’d created.
My phone vibrated with a text from Ethan:
<i>Good </i>night, master.
86
I rolled my eyes at his yfulness but couldn’t help the small smile that formed. I turned off my phone and headed to bed.
The doorbell rang at exactly 2 PM this day. I’d been expecting Walter Morrison to return with Sergeant Ford for his follow–up treatment, but I wasn’t prepared for the additional guests.
Through the security camera, I spotted Walter’s silver hair, Sergeant Ford’s military posture, Colonel Edwards and an unfamiliar face–a young man who shared his features.
I opened the door, expressionless.
“Miss Morgan,” Walter greeted me warmly. “I hope we’re not imposing. Colonel Edwards was most impressed with your treatment of Sergeant Ford and insisted on apanying us today. And he’s brought his son, Tristan.”
Colonel Edwards stepped forward, his posture impable. “Miss Morgan, a pleasure to see you again. Allow me to introduce my son, Tristan Edwards. He graduated from West Pointst year, top of his ss.”
The younger man<b>, </b>tall and athletic with his father’s strong jawline, extended his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Morgan. My father hasn’t stopped talking about you these days.”
<b>I </b>gave his hand a cursory nce but didn’t take it. Instead, I nodded slightly and stepped aside. “Come in.”
If Tristan was offended by my cold reception, he didn’t show it. The group followed me into the living room, where I had already prepared the equipment for Ford’s treatment.
‘Please sit<b>, </b>Sergeant,” I instructed<b>, </b>gesturing to the medical chair I’d set up. “We’ll need to continue with the neural regeneration today.”
As I prepared the treatment, Colonel Edwards cleared his throat. “My son has been stationed at Fort Bragg, Miss Morgan. He’s an excellent marksman–almost qualified for the Olympic team.”
I didn’t look up from my work. “Fascinating.”
“When I told him about your extraordinary shooting skills, he was quite impressed,” Edwards continued, undeterred by myck of interest. “I thought you young people might have a lot inmon.”
<b>8:01 </b>Fri<b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>26 </b>T
…
?
<b>86 </b>
<b>Tristan </b>shifted ufortably. “Dad, please.”
“I was hoping we could all have dinner together tonight,” Colonel Edwards pressed on. “The Princeton Club has an excellent chef who-”
“I have ns,” I interrupted<b>, </b>finally looking up. “Someone’s bringing me dinner.”
Colonel Edwards looked disappointed but quickly recovered. “Another time, perhaps.”
<b>As </b>I began Ford’s treatment, focusing intently on the micro–electrical stimtion, Colonel Edwards continued his attempt at conversation.
“Miss Morgan, I’ve been meaning to ask–where did you learn to shoot with such precision? Your technique is
remarkable.”
I met his gaze, my expression neutral. “Carnival shooting gallery. Won a lot of stuffed animals.”
Sergeant Ford couldn’t suppress a smile despite the difort of his treatment.
Colonel Edwards chuckled. “Come now, that kind of skill doesn’te from shooting at balloons.”
“You’d be surprised,” I replied tly.
“Perhaps you and Tristan could practice together sometime? The military base has excellent facilities.” Colonel Edwards continued, undaunted.
Tristan winced. “Dad, she’s clearly busy.” He nodded toward my hands, which were steady as I administered Ford’s
treatment.
Colonel Edwards finally took the hint and fell silent, though the look in his eyes told me he hadn’t given up on his matchmaking scheme.
The doorbell rang again, breaking the awkward silence.
“Could someone get that?” I asked, not looking up from Ford’s shoulder.
‘I’ll go, Tristan offered, seemingly grateful for the escape.
A momentter, I heard voices in the hallway, followed by Tristan’s surprised exmation. “Mr. Haxton?”
Perfect timing.
Footsteps approached, and Ethan walked into the living room, Connor trailing behind him. Both carried bags from Le Bernardin, one of the most exclusive restaurants in Princeton.
“We brought dinner,” Ethan announced, his eyes taking in the scene–me working on Sergeant Ford’s shoulder,
8:01 Fri<b>, </b><b>Sep </b>26 <b>T </b>
:
Walter Morrison observing closely, and Colonel Edwards sitting stiffly on the sofa.
86
Tristan returned to the room<b>, </b>his expression a mixture of confusion and realization as he looked between Ethan and me. The <b>pieces </b>were clearly falling into ce in his mind.
“Mr. <b>Haxton</b><b>?</b>” Colonel Edwards said<b>, </b>his voice strained. In his head, I could almost hear him thinking: Shit.
I looked up briefly, acknowledging Ethan with a simple, “You’re here<b>.</b><b>” </b>
“I am,” Ethan replied with equal brevity.
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