Page 120

Where Saint found the Omegas.

Once is a possibility.

Twice is a pattern.

I add a new column to my spreadsheet.

Obsidian Shards = Omegas

Waterfront Depot = West Dock District, Brickwell

My heart pounds through my body, along with a flush of heat. A distant beep cuts through the quiet, and I reach over to silence my alarm before it knocks me off course.

I sort my current list by date and pull another hard drive, searching for jobs logged around the same time. Not all of them cross-reference cleanly, but enough do for the code to start coming apart.

Not quickly.

But with enough loose threads, I’ll unravel the whole network.

The people behind the winter transaction come off my suspect list. Orien took care of them, so they’re not the people who hurt Kain.

They’re dead ends, but their data isn’t, because they talked to other accounts.

I click back to the restored archive and open the next flagged post.

Same phrasing.

Same spacing.

Same weird habit of putting a period after the item count.

Different username.

“That’s you.” My voice barely disturbs the quiet in the basement.

I add the username to the spreadsheet and connect it to the three accounts already grouped beneath the same pattern. Four names now. Maybe one person. Maybe four people following the same instructions.

Either way, they belong together.

My Pixel Peach sits beside my laptop. I pick it up, take a distracted swallow, and grimace.

Warm. Ew.

My nape itches, and I rub the sensitive skin. The contact sends a shiver through me, and a dull ache answers from lower down. My muscles clench as warm, sticky sweetness slithers through me.

I ignore it and keep hunting.

As I link posts to real-world events, my decryption key grows. New categories join the spreadsheet for drug transactions, human trafficking, stolen vehicles, and even insurance fraud.

My eyes burn. The room temperature sits at sixty-eight degrees to keep Kain’s equipment cool, but my hoodie clings to my skin. The oversized fabric hangs heavy now, a wool blanket trapping heat close to my body. I shrug one shoulder, trying to let in some air, and the movement sends a dull throb through my temples.

A soft chime fills the room, and I reach over to turn it off without looking.

One more thread, and then I’ll go take my second round of suppressants.

The next tab loads a moderator-deleted thread from the Dusk Protocol General Discussion board.

Topic: Trading Rare Items