Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
It’s weird.
He’s weird.
But being around Gage feels like a reprieve from all the noise. No expectations. No judgment. Just… space.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask him later, when we’re sitting on a bench near the park and the sun’s starting to set.
He lifts a shoulder. “Because you deserve it.”
I turn toward him. “Even though I’ve been kind of… prickly?”
“Especially because of that,” he says with a small grin. “Prickly people are usually the ones worth knowing.”
I stare at him. Like really stare.
At the faint scar near his temple. The way his lashes catch the fading light. The quiet confidence in his voice that makes me feel steady, even when I’m falling apart.
He’s not who I expected him to be.
At work, he’s loud. Cocky. And honestly just there.
But here…
Here he’s something else.
“Can I tell you something weird?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“It’s about someone called Mask.”
His expression doesn’t change—but I swear there’s the smallest flicker in his eyes.
“I’ve been talking to him online. He found me through the Cathedral mess. He’s been helping me—like, seriously helping. Tracking the IPs, sniffing out the troll networks, blocking repeat offenders before they can get through.”
Gage’s voice is careful. “You trust him?”
This must sound so strange to him. “I… yeah. I do. I don’t know why, but I do.”
He nods once. “What does he want?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “That’s the crazy part. He won’t even let me see his face. He just shows up whenever I need help, then disappears again.”
Gage’s eyes land on mine. “I don’t know if this mask-guy is such a great idea, River. What if you can’t trust him?”
Interesting. Gage is definitely not Mask. He doesn’t trust him. I feel like I needed to prove it to myself.
Is this disappointment?
I glance down at my hands, fidgeting with the hem of my hoodie. “I, uh, I kissed him.”
Gage’s breath hitches.
Barely.
But I hear it.
I look up, eyes wide. “Sorry. That was probably TMI.”
“No,” he says quickly. “No, it’s fine.” He swallows.
“He said he wasn’t safe,” I whisper. “That I shouldn’t dream of him. But I do. I can’t stop. It’s like there’s something about him I already know. And I… I want to know who he is. Really.”
I glance at Gage.
He’s staring straight ahead.
And for one, flickering second, I could swear the look in his eyes is haunted.
Like he knows exactly what I’m talking about.
EIGHTEEN
GAGE
She kissed me.
Last night, behind that alley, she kissed me.
She doesn’t know it. Not really. Not yet.
But her lips tasted like wildfire and trust and the kind of hope I’ve spent years teaching myself not to crave.
And now—after the way she looked at me, after the things she told me about Mask—my entire body is on edge. The mask may still be on, but the lines are blurring fast.
Too fast.
I heard her whisper my name in her sleep.
Not Gage.
Mask.
Over the encrypted mic feed I left running—because I wanted to make sure she was okay—I heard her say it. Low. Breathless. Like a secret laced in silk.
And I fucking lost it.
I’m still losing it.
But that was nothing—nothing—compared to what I felt when I saw the image.
Her face. Her body—or at least, what someone imagined her body looked like—plastered across Cathedral’s splash screen like some sick marketing gimmick, twisted with malice and intent.
I nearly blacked out from the rage.
Not protective rage. Not rational anger.
Animal fury.
I’m trained to keep my cool under pressure. But when I opened that screen, when I saw her humiliation, the way they digitally touched her—
I wanted to punch something. Murder someone.
The crew at NovaPlay doesn’t even know the half of it.
But I do.
Because now I’ve traced the entry point.
And I wish I hadn’t.
It came from her laptop. Not her current system—but an old backup repository. One that hadn’t been connected to the network in over a year.
Which means it wasn’t pulled from the cloud.
It was taken from inside.
Someone had access to her local drive.
Someone inside the building.
That leaves Mason out.
“I should walk you back to your car,” I tell her, standing from the bench.
“I liked spending the day with you. Thank you,” she whispers, and I watch the way a strand of blue hair floats across her face.
Every part of me screams to brush the stray strand behind her ear like some goddamn hero in some corny romcom, but instead I keep my hands fisted to my sides.
What if I told her? What if I came clean?
What if I fucking kissed her right now? Right here?
She gazes up at me, and my heart nearly beats out of my chest. “You’re not the person I thought you were.”
I crack a small grin. “Hope that’s a good thing.” I rock on my heels as I shove my hands in my jean pockets before I touch her.
“It is,” she says with a smile as we start heading back toward the office.