Page 48 of You Were Warned: Part One

“Something like that.”

“Can you get in?”

404 nods. “Yes.”

Clay looks at me, but 404 doesn’t take his eyes off his screen. For the next twenty minutes, not much happens, and neither of us says much. Though 404 does enough talking for all of us, most of it seemingly directed at himself.

“No.”

Type.

“That was rude.”

More typing.

“Clever.”

Pause.

“Oh, very clever.”

I move closer to see what’s going on, which is dumb because I can’t understand any of it.

“What’s clever?”

“The encryption,” he says, not looking up as his fingers move across the keys at a speed that almost makes me go cross-eyed when I try to follow them. “Who exactly is Jensen Layne?”

“The owner of the drive,” I say, and he looks up at me.

“I know that.”

“Then why ask?” Clay snaps.

“Because whoever did this,” he says, pointing at the screen, “knows what he’s doing.”

404 turns the screen slightly, but whatever is on there means nothing to me. “This isn’t downloaded software with a password slapped on it. There are layers, triggers, dead ends. Parts designed to make someone think they’ve gotten somewhere when they haven’t. He’s good.”

For the first time since he arrived, he looks genuinely excited, which is a weird emotion to be feeling right now, but 404 is a weird guy.

“I would go so far as to say he’s as good as I am.”

Clay laughs and 404 pins him with a glare.

“Oh, you’re serious. So what does that mean?” Clay asks.

“That I want to meet him.”

“No,” I say faster than necessary, and Clay raises a brow at me.

“What he means is we need to figure out what we are dealing with first.”

“I didn’t say now,” 404 quips, turning back to face the screen. He gets back to work, and half an hour passes, then forty minutes.

I get bored enough to go grab us coffee, and when I get back, he is still working. Eventually 404 sits back and stretches, cracking his knuckles.

“I’m in.”

Clay straightens and 404 starts opening files, but the first few mean nothing to me—numbers, directories, things that look like records. Then he opens another, and the room changes, there is no other way to describe it. One second, I’m standing beside Clay’s desk, wondering what the fuck I’m looking at, and the next, every muscle in my body locks.