The door wasn’t locked.

That was the first thing he noticed—the second was the light. Not the overhead kind, but the cold glow of a laptop screen cutting through the dark like a blade.

He shouldn’t have been here. Not in her apartment, not in her life—least of all standing in her doorway like some ghost that refused to stay buried.

But there she was.

On her knees.

For a split second, something ugly twisted in his chest—anger, instinct, something territorial he refused to name. Then his brain caught up.

Wires. Not hands.

A dismantled laptop lay open on the floor, its insides exposed like a body mid-surgery. Three more screens surrounded her, each filled with scrolling code, bank interfaces, security feeds. Numbers blinked. Accounts shifted.

Money moved.

A lot of it.

She didn’t look up. “If you’re going to stand there breathing like a creep, at least close the door.”

He shut it automatically.

“You’re stealing,” he said flatly.

“No,” she murmured, fingers flying over the keyboard. “I’m redistributing.”

“From who?”

A beat. Then, dry: “People who won’t notice.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s the only one you’re getting.”

He stepped closer despite himself. He hadn’t seen her like this before—focused, stripped of her usual sharp tongue and deliberate cruelty. No mask, no performance. Just precision.

Her hair was tied back messily, a pen stuck through it. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her hands trembled once—just once—before she steadied them again.

“Since when do you need money that badly?” he asked.

She paused.

Not long. Just enough.

“Since always,” she said, too quickly.

He scoffed. “You expect me to believe that? You, of all people?”

That got her to look at him.

And for a moment—just one—he saw it.

Not the smirk. Not the calculated indifference.

Fear.

Raw and flickering before she crushed it.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she snapped, turning back to the screen. “So don’t pretend like you suddenly care.”

“I don’t,” he shot back immediately.

The lie hung there, thick.

On the monitors, a transfer completed. A quiet chime. Another number shifted—larger this time.

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not small change.”

“No,” she said softly. “It’s not.”

Silence stretched, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

“You’ll get caught,” he finally said.

“Not tonight.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Her hands stilled again. Slower this time.

“Then don’t ask,” she whispered.

He watched her for a long moment, jaw tight. This was wrong. Illegal. Reckless. Exactly the kind of thing he should report, shut down—her included.

Instead, he stepped past her, reaching for the curtain and yanking it shut.

She blinked up at him. “I won’t snitch.“