Page 56 of Override

“Oh God she saw it.”

Of course she saw it. That was literally the objective, genius.

I start pacing again immediately.

The apartment suddenly feels too small. Too warm. Too full of my own spiraling thoughts.

The Office still plays forgotten in the background while I walk holes through the hardwood floors like a haunted metronome.

Unknown number. Encrypted bounce routing. Burner relay. No direct trace.

Good.

Good good good.

Unless she shows Ronan.

The thought hits so violently I physically stop moving.

No.

No absolutely not.

Because then he’d lock the house down harder. Purge systems. Replace security. And I’d lose access completely.

Not to the estate.

To her.

The realization lands ugly and immediate in my chest.

I yank the headphones partly off before shoving them back on a second later because somehow not hearing the bathroom now feels worse.

Fantastic. Healthy response.

Inside the feed, I hear movement again.

Fast this time.

Not panicked exactly.

Startled.

Then the faint sound of fabric shifting and quick uneven breathing.

“She’s freaking out,” I whisper.

Which—valid.

Honestly if an unknown number texted me while I was crying alone in what I thought was the only private room in my house, I’d probably assume I was about to die.

I lean forward suddenly, elbows braced against the kitchen counter while every muscle in my body tightens.

No more messages.

Absolutely not.

The line already vanished somewhere in the rearview mirror tonight.