Page 83 of Peak’s Code

He looked offended. "Maeve."

"What?" she breathed.

"I've been waiting my entire career for someone arrogant enough to build this, just so I can break into it,” he said. His fingers blurred across the keyboard, and after about ninety seconds, the scanner flashed green and the massive lock clicked open. Peak slowly pushed the door inward as cold air spilled into the hallway. Endless rows of servers stretched into the distance beneath bright white lights. There were thousands of blinking indicators with petabytes of stolen lives and stolen identities. And in the very center, a woman sat at six curved monitors. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy braid, and headphones hung around her neck. Her fingers never stopped typing.

Maeve stopped breathing. "Wren.”

The woman froze, and slowly, she turned around. For one impossible second, nobody moved. Then, Wren's eyes widened, and tears filled them instantly.

"Maeve?" Her voice cracked. "You actually came." Maeve ran to her sister, and Peak didn't stop her. Hell, he couldn’t have if he'd tried. The sisters collided halfway across the server room—laughing and crying. They held each other as though eighteen months had never existed. Peak looked away because some reunions deserved privacy.

Every monitor in the room changed simultaneously, and the same face appeared across dozens of screens. It had to be the Director. His silver hair, perfect suit, and cold smile made Peak furious. He looked directly into the nearest camera. "Mr. Dixon." Peak slowly turned. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

The reinforced blast doors slammed shut behind them, and metal bolts drove home with a deafening clang. The Director smiled wider. "I do hope you brought enough ammunition."

Maeve

"Wren.” The name barely left Maeve's lips before her legs were moving. Everything else disappeared. The server room, the humming racks of blinking machines, and even Peak. All she could see was the Director's face staring down from dozens of monitors. None of it mattered, though, only Wren.

Her little sister stood frozen behind a bank of curved monitors, her hands suspended above a keyboard as though she couldn't decide whether to run or whether this was another cruel hallucination. For one terrible heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then Wren whispered the only word that mattered. "Maeve?"

Maeve crossed the distance between them at a sprint. "Wren!" They collided hard enough to stagger backward. Maeve wrapped both arms around her sister, burying her face against Wren's shoulder as tears she'd held back for eighteen months finally broke free. She didn't care who saw. She didn't care that Director was watching. She didn't care that mercenaries could burst through the doors at any second. Wren was alive, and that was all she cared about.

Maeve held her tighter. "I've got you." Her voice shook. "I've got you."

Wren laughed through her tears. "You actually found me."

"I told you I would,” Maeve said.

"I know." Wren pulled back just enough to look at her. "You look awful."

Maeve barked out a laugh. "So do you." Wren smiled, and Maeve cupped her face with both hands. The last eighteen months had changed her. She was thinner, and her dark hair had been cut shorter than she'd ever worn it. Faint shadows rested beneath her eyes, and a healing scar disappeared beneath the collar of her shirt. But those green eyes hadn't changed—not one bit.

Maeve wiped tears from Wren's cheeks. "I thought—” She couldn't finish.

Wren understood anyway. "I know.” They hugged again—longer this time. Maeve held her tighter, and Peak quietly turned away, giving them the moment without a word.

Finally, Wren stepped back. She looked over Maeve's shoulder toward Peak. "So.” She sniffled. "Who is this?” she asked.

“This is Peak,” Maeve said. She laughed through another wave of tears. “I’m not sure what to call you,” she said. “I mean, do I tell people that you’re my boyfriend, or that we’re just sleeping together?” She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Should I not have said that either?” She felt so unsure of herself; she was flustered and tongue-tied. Wren folded her arms over her body, as though waiting him out for an answer to all her sister’s questions.

Peak raised an eyebrow. "I don't know whether to be offended or not. How can you not know what to call me, honey?" he asked.

Wren smiled. “He’s definitely your boyfriend, sissy. I mean, just look at the way that he looks at you. Plus, he just called you honey, so I’m betting that I’m right.”

"I like you already,” Peak said as he looked toward Maeve. "Is she always this opinionated?"

Maeve laughed. "Always."

Wren nodded proudly. "It's one of my better qualities." For just a moment, everything felt normal. Like two sisters teasing each other in a kitchen instead of standing inside a criminal empire beneath the Maryland marshes.

The Director's voice echoed through hidden speakers. "Touching." The room immediately fell silent. "I'll admit—” The Director's calm voice filled the chamber. “I underestimated family." Every monitor continued displaying his face. "You crossed state lines, infiltrated a motorcycle club, and destroyed years of careful planning." He smiled pleasantly. "Quite impressive."

Maeve stepped in front of Wren instinctively. Peak moved beside them both. The Director seemed to notice. "And Mr. Dixon. You've been especially inconvenient." Peak didn't answer, but the Director didn't seem bothered. "You've already lost."

Wren laughed—a genuine laugh, and the Director's smile disappeared. "You think so?"