Page 8 of Daddy Erik
I put my phone back on my nightstand and slide beneath the covers and pull them to my chin. I tell myself that tomorrow I’ll call Grace and ask her if the deli ever got similar alerts. Perhaps I'll stop thinking about the way Erik said my name like it was something he was responsible for.
I close my eyes, but his voice follows:Top bolt, little one.
The words fall from my lips before I can stop them.“Top bolt, little one.”
It feels like both a lock and a prayer.
Outside, the city exhales, one long, low breath, and somewhere I imagine Erik lying in bed… possibly thinking of me.
Erik
The world outside my windows is quiet now, which feels deceptive. Houston sleeps, yet I don’t.
The alert hits my phone with a chime:
UNAUTHORIZED PING – LEGACY VERITEK NODE
Status: Handshake Attempt
Result: Blocked
I rub the bridge of my nose and stare at the line of code blinking like a pulse. Veritek hasn’t had access to Claire’s system since she canceled last quarter. That means someoneresurrected a dead route to test how deep my walls go. No breach yet. The bookstore is currently under pressure.
Testing defenses. Mapping response time. Classic SableCorp behavior.
I reroute the trace through a dummy node, ghosting the signal into a loop that leads nowhere. Source unknown. Somewhere east of the Bay, there's industrial sprawl, old refineries, and tech warehouses that pretend to be storage units.
Close. Too close.
The cursor blinks in the dark like a heartbeat that refuses to stop. My reflection looks back from the black glass of the phone screen: jaw tight, shirt off. Damn, I should go back to bed… but I don’t.
Instead, I open the encrypted folder still sitting in the corner of the screen. A photograph fills the display, with Grace and Claire standing behind the deli counter, both laughing, flour dusting their arms. Claire’s eyes are caught mid-sparkle, hair falling over her cheek. Bjorn had sent it weeks ago, claiming it was for “family archives.” I kept it anyway.
I trace the image with my eyes, not my hand.They’ll come for that brightness.It’s what SableCorp does: find the light and harvest it until it dies.
Not this time.
I bring up the security interface again and add an extra layer to her perimeter, a rotating key encryption that changes every three hours. She’ll never notice it running, just as she never notices how often I circle her block. Protection doesn’t need applause; it needs precision.
The city’s horizon starts to pale, the hour when night begins to surrender. Holding my phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard before logic can intervene, I write a text:
To Claire: Lock everything twice, sweet girl.
I am hesitant about the pet name. It isn’t planned, but it feels right, an instinct carved from the same place as duty.
I hit send.
Two minutes later, the phone buzzes again.
Claire: Yes, sir.
A breath I didn’t know I’d been holding loosens in my chest. I assume she’s half-asleep, yet she listens to me.
The corner of my mouth lifts, small, unguarded, and gone before the next blink of the cursor.
“She’s learning fast,” I murmur to the empty room.
Outside, the first streaks of dawn bleed through the fog. I kill the phone screen and turn over to try to sleep a few hours before having to head into the office today.
