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The Onyx Security conference room looked nothing like the sleek glass and chrome spaces where I usually took meetings. Wood paneling covered the walls, probably original from whenever this building went up. A scarred oak table dominated the center, but the chairs were all high-tech comfortable. The whole space smelled of coffee and something else I couldn't quite place. Gun oil maybe?

"The video's sophisticated." Jase clicked his laptop, projecting my nightmare onto a sleek screen that had slid down from the ceiling. "Whoever made this has serious resources."

I forced myself to look at it again. There I was, or what looked exactly like me, sitting in my trailer. My voice spewed poison about Marcus, my co-star and friend. Every racist slur imaginable poured from my lips with casual cruelty. My stomach lurched.

A man named Simon Clark leaned back in his chair, gray eyes studying the screen with the intensity of someone who'd analyzed threats for a living. Which, according to Angelica's hurried introductions, he had. He was a Former Navy SEAL Lieutenant Commander, now co-owner of Onyx Security with Roan Thatcher, who sat beside him looking equally grim. Roan was formerly in Marine special operations.

"The lighting's perfect." Roan pointed at the screen. "Shadow placement, reflection in your eyes, even the way your hair moves. This isn't some amateur with FaceApp."

"Obviously." The word came out sharper than I intended.

Angelica squeezed my hand under the table.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“No problem. We understand, ma’am.” Roan said. He might have been trying for a comforting smile, but it missed its mark. There was nothing he could do to comfort me about this situation.

"We need someone who understands the tech behind this." Simon pulled out his phone. "Code should have been here by now."

"Code?" I asked.

"My cousin." Jase checked his watch, then frowned. "Wait, what time did I tell him?"

"You said eleven." Simon pulled up something on his phone. "I was copied on the text."

"I thought I said noon." Jase scrolled through his phone. "No, wait. Eleven-thirty?" He showed the screen to Simon. "Damn it."

The door opened. A man entered carrying a travel mug of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other. He moved with the kind of controlled awareness I recognized from years of working with military consultants on film sets. But where the SEALs I'd met carried themselves with obvious confidence, almost swagger, this man seemed to absorb space rather than command it.

He stood maybe six-two, broad shoulders under a plain black Henley that had seen better days. Brown hair that needed a cut, a beard that suggested he'd stopped caring about regulations. But it was his eyes that made me shift in my seat. Light green, almost gray in the fluorescent lighting, taking in everything while revealing nothing.

"You're late." Jase said, but he looked sheepish.

"You said three different times in three different messages." Code held up his phone. "I picked the middle one."

"My bad." Jase actually looked embarrassed. "I've been scattered this morning."

Code took the empty chair across from me. His gaze swept over me once, cataloging, then moved to the projected video. "This the problem?"

"Code, this is Kit Lord, one of Angelica’s best friends." Jase gestured between us. "Kit, this is our cousin, Codell Drakos, call him Code. He spent twenty years in the Army, specialized in cyber operations, just retired as a Lieutenant Colonel three months ago⁠—"

"That's enough background." Code's voice stayed level, but something in it made Jase stop mid-sentence."Right." Jase cleared his throat. "Can you look at the video? Tell us what we're dealing with?"

Code studied the screen for thirty seconds without speaking. Then he stood and walked closer to the projection. His head tilted slightly.

It seemed odd that this big Navy SEAL took direction so easily from his cousin. Just who was this man?"Play it from the start."

Jase restarted the video. My voice filled the room, saying those horrible things. I wanted to cover my ears, run from the room, disappear entirely. Instead, I forced myself to sit still, chin up, like I was enduring a particularly brutal review from the Hollywood Reporter.

"Again." Code hadn't moved. "Quarter speed this time."

The video played in slow motion, making my fake voice sound demonic. Code pulled out his phone and typed something quickly.

"Can you send this file to me?"

"Sure." Jase grabbed his laptop. "What are you seeing?"