The rain hasn’t stopped in hours — thick, cold sheets that turn every gutter into a river and smear the glow of streetlights into gold streaks across the pavement. Price pulls his collar up against the chill, scanning the maze of alleys ahead.

“Laswell swore she was in this district,” he mutters, checking his watch. “You sure this is the right alley?”

Ghost adjusts the strap of his rifle, his voice low beneath the mask.

“Positive. Her signal’s jumping Wi-Fi every few minutes. Smart little ghost. Kid’s either brilliant or suicidal.”

“Or both,” Price replies under his breath.

They turn the corner and stop. There — under a flickering neon sign — you crouch beside a dead ATM, a battered laptop balanced on a milk crate, its screen throwing pale green light across your face. Your hoodie’s soaked through, the sleeves torn. Cables snake out from the wall into your machine, leeching power where you can find it. The air smells like rain, rust, and the faint burn of overheating circuits.

A bag of instant noodles sits beside you, along with an empty can of energy drink. You hear them before you see them — two sets of boots crunching through puddles, slow and deliberate.

You don’t run. You’ve learned that people who walk like that don’t chase — they hunt.

“You two look lost,” you call, not glancing up. “This is my corner. Trespassers get charged double.”

Price exchanges a look with Ghost — half impressed, half exhausted.

“Name’s Price,” the older man says, voice calm but heavy with command. “This here’s Ghost. We’re looking for someone who knows their way around code. Laswell says you’re the best.”

You finally glance up, eyes catching the dim light.

“Laswell, huh? You lot don’t usually crawl out here to chat. Guess your toys aren’t working?”

“Encrypted data,” Price answers, stepping closer. “Level of coding even GCHQ can’t crack. We need it done fast and quiet. You help us, we help you.”

You smirk, the expression coming easy despite the rain dripping from your hood.

“Help, huh? What’s that look like coming from you people? I’m not enlisting, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No one’s asking you to,” Price says evenly. “You’ll get paid — enough to keep you fed and off the street for good.”

Ghost tilts his head, his tone rough but curious.

“What’s your name, kid?”

You hesitate, then straighten a little.

“Riley,” you say. “Riley Kade.”

Price studies you — soaked, stubborn, sharp-eyed. Sixteen and surviving off circuits and stolen bandwidth. You can see it in his face — the realization that you’re too young to be this hardened, but too clever to ignore.

“All right, Riley,” he says. “You help us crack this code, you walk away clean — cash in hand, no strings. Deal?”

You eye the data drive he slides across the wet concrete toward you.

“You dragged a sixteen-year-old hacker out in the middle of the night for government secrets,” you say, picking it up. “You must be desperate.”

“We are,” Ghost mutters.

You snort softly and slot the drive into your laptop. The fans whine, screen flickering to life in green streams of code. It’s complex — almost alive — but you’ve seen worse. You start typing, fingers flying, lines of encrypted data unraveling in real time.

Price folds his arms, rain dripping off his hat brim as he watches.

“Bloody hell,” he murmurs. “She’s fast.”

“Told you,” Ghost replies quietly. “Brilliant or suicidal.”

“Still not sure which.”

You don’t look up, too focused on the code bleeding across your screen.

“You’ll find out soon enough, Captain.”