Pushing myself to my feet, I let my gaze flick once again to the camera and force a crooked smile.
“Don’t worry,” I say lightly, my tone innocent. “I’m not about to do anything dramatic.”
Except…I think I am.
I have to, don’t I?
I’m smackdab in the middle of this supervillain shitstorm with absolutely nothing going for me. Okay, so I have some hacking and coding skills, but what the fuck is that going to do for me against Malcolm and his army of Ascended? And what if Reese decides to come after me again?
I swear to fuck if I get kidnapped a third time…
I can’t let that happen. Iwon’t. If Reese does show himself again, I’ll be ready next time. I’ll finally be able to put up a fucking fight against him.
My stomach twists in on itself, but I ignore it. Turning away from the camera, I move to my desk, open a drawer, and pull something out. It’s a small device, a little older. Custom, one I made myself.
“Let’s just…level the playing field a little.”
I flip it on. A faint hum fills the air—low, subtle, easy to miss unless you’re looking for it. Signal interference. Not enough to kill the feed entirely but enough to scramble the audio. Enoughto give me a pocket of privacy.
Setting it down, I glance back to the bookshelf.
“Sorry. You don’t get this part.”
Then I pick up my phone. My hand hesitates, only for a second, because once I do this, there’s no taking it back, no pretending I didn’t consider it. No going back to being the guy who hacks things from a safe distance and makes jokes about it.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I scroll through my contacts and find the one I’m looking for, one I haven’t used in three years. Then I drop onto the couch and press call.
It rings twice.
“Hello?”
I lean back against the arm of the couch as relief fills my lungs. Fuck, it’s good to hear a voice that isn’t trying to manipulate me into a moral crisis.
“Long time, Doc.”
“Cason,” Harrison says.
I grumble. As much as I still hate anyone else using that name, this still feels…familiar. Safe. Or at least safer than everything else currently happening in my life. It may have been three years since I last spoke to Harrison or Lane, but I think I’ve kind of missed them. I’m just horrible at keeping people around.
“What can I do for you, Case?”
Hearing the name I prefer he use makes the next part easier. But only a little.
“I need your help with something.”
The words come out faster than I intend, like if I don’t say them quickly enough, I might lose my nerve. I don’t even give him time to respond.
“I know it’s been a while. I hate to call after so much time to ask you for a favor.”
“Case—”
“But I did help you back then, and I was hoping…”
“Case—”
“And before you say no, I think you might actually be interested in what I have to say, what with your fascination with impossible projects and—”
“Cason!”
