Chapter 16

Hunter's evening blended into the night.

When his eyes became to0 gritty and his brain too foggy, he caught a few hours of shut-eye on the lumpy sofa. Waking up, he cricked his neck, tried to work out the kinks from his back, and made a fresh pot of coffee.

He returned his attention back to the multiple monitors, and the data that could dismantle the trafficking network he was determined to expose. His mind was entrenched in coding, bypassing firewalls, and back-tracing digital footprints. Hunter's eyes were locked onto the screen as he sifted through an encrypted data stream that had just decrypted. As the data loaded, line by line, his focus was absolute—until a particular message popped onto the screen, freezing him mid-breath.

"God-fucking-damn-it!"

The email was simple, a communication between unknown entities, but the content was shockingly familiar. It detailed operational strategies of the Emerald City Overdrive, mentioning a specific mountain trail and a safehouse they'd used in the past. But it was the mention of a username, a handle that Hunter recognized instantly—his own online alias in certain encrypted chatrooms—that clenched his stomach with ice-cold dread.

A small, insidious voice whispered in the back of his mind, Ethan knows this too. The thought was a dark cloud passing over the sun. Hunter shook his head, dispelling the thought as quickly as it had formed. No, Ethan wouldn't—couldn't—be involved in this. He dismissed the suspicion with a frustrated swipe of his hand over his face, as if physically pushing the treacherous thought away.

Needing confirmation, needing anything to make sense of this betrayal, Hunter initiated a trace on the message's origin. His hands were steady, but his heart hammered against his ribs as the commands flew from his fingertips.

Frustration surged through him as the implications of this betrayal sank in. Each new piece of intercepted data revealed they had a mole he could not yet identify. He muttered curses under his breath, his jaw clenched so tightly that it ached.

The need to act was overwhelming, yet every hacking attempt to trace the mole's digital signature was blocked. The more he pushed, the more elusive the asshole seemed to be. His mouse clicked more aggressively, and documents were minimized and maximized with sharp, swift motions that betrayed his inner turmoil.

Unable to sit still, Hunter pushed back from his desk and began to pace. His steps were quick and uneven, the room suddenly too confining, as if the walls themselves were closing in with each passing second. He stopped abruptly, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, before exhaling a heavy, frustrated sigh.

Knowing he needed a clearer perspective, he grabbed his phone to call Ethan, hoping to hear a friendly voice that might offer a new angle or just a momentary distraction. But the call went straight to voicemail. The tone beeped, and Hunter hesitated only a moment before speaking.

"Ethan, it's Hunter. Look, I've hit a snag. There's a leak—someone's feeding info to the traffickers, and I can't pin them down. Call me back when you can. I could use another set of eyes on this."

After hanging up, Hunter grabbed his leather jacket and headed for his bike. The night air was cool against his heated skin as he swung a leg over the sleek frame of his Harley. As he started the engine, the familiar rumble felt comforting, grounding. He needed to clear his head.

With a twist of the throttle, he guided the bike out onto the road, pushing it a little above the speed limit. Normally, a ride like this would soothe him, the power of the Harley beneath him offering a sense of control he lacked in his digital pursuits. Tonight, though, even the rush of the wind and the roar of the engine couldn't strip away his frustration. He didn't enjoy the ride as he normally would; his mind was too clouded, too focused on the mole.

As the city lights faded behind him, he drove higher into the mountains. The road twisted and turned. He navigated each bend on autopilot. His thoughts were elsewhere—on the data, on the mole, on what he might be missing. He passed the turnoff that would have taken him back toward Seattle, choosing instead to climb higher, where the air was clearer and the view unobstructed.

Reaching a lookout, Hunter cut the engine and dismounted. The quiet of the mountain enveloped him, the distant city lights sparkling under a blanket of stars. He leaned back against his bike, allowing the silence to wash over him, hoping the vastness of the view would lend him some perspective.

In the solitude of the mountain, with the cool night air brushing against his skin and the scent of pine and earth grounding him, Hunter allowed himself a moment to just breathe. The natural world didn't have answers, but it offered a respite from the unrelenting pressure of his quest. Here, high above the world he was trying to protect, he could gather his strength before diving back into the battle.