Ethan Cross sat alone in his dimly lit workshop, surrounded by the quiet hum of machines. The room smelled of burnt solder and stale coffee, a sanctuary of blinking LEDs and tangled wires. A solitary window framed the rain-slicked streets of Seattle, casting neon reflections against his cluttered desk. This was where Ethan operated—his fortress of solitude, his command center, his world.

He hunched over a battered laptop, its screen displaying a chaotic array of command lines. Fingers moved like machine-gun fire, typing in commands that cascaded into lines of raw code. Somewhere in Eastern Europe, a government server sputtered under his assault, its defenses crumbling like wet paper. Ethan wasn’t stealing data, not this time. He was testing it, probing the vulnerabilities that could be exploited by someone with fewer scruples. This was his job now: ethical hacking.

At least, that’s what the National Security Agency called it.

His phone vibrated on the edge of the desk, dragging him back to reality. Ethan glanced at the screen. Unknown number. His jaw tightened. Few people had this number, and none of them would call for anything trivial. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before snatching the phone.

“This is Cross,” he said, voice clipped.

“Dr. Cross,” a deep voice replied. Smooth, professional, and unmistakably government-issued. “We need you.”

“You’re interrupting something.”

“You’ll want to be interrupted for this.” The man paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. “Meet me at the Red Line Café. Twenty minutes.”

Before Ethan could respond, the line went dead. He stared at the phone, his mind racing. The Red Line was a nondescript coffee shop near the waterfront, a place frequented by tourists and dockworkers. It wasn’t a typical rendezvous for the kind of people Ethan dealt with.

“Subtle,” he muttered, slipping the phone into his pocket.

The rain had picked up by the time Ethan reached the Red Line. He pushed through the glass door, the inviting warmth inside wrapped around him like a thick blanket, sharply contrasting with the biting chill of the rain-soaked street outside. The café was half-empty, its clientele absorbed in their conversations or scrolling through their phones. A man in a dark suit sat in the far corner, his posture military-straight, his gaze locked on Ethan the moment he walked in.

“Dr. Cross,” the man said as Ethan approached. He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit.”

Ethan slid into the seat, his eyes scanning the man. Late forties, close-cropped hair, the kind of face that faded into crowds. His suit was expensive but understated, the only clue to his status.

“Who are you?” Ethan asked, his voice low.

“Call me Langston,” the man replied. “NSA.”

“I’m not looking for work.”

“This isn’t a request.” Langston’s tone was calm but carried an edge of authority. He slid a folder across the table. Ethan hesitated before flipping it open.

Inside were photos, grainy satellite images of a sprawling industrial complex. Next to them were dossiers of individuals—engineers, programmers, executives. A logo on one of the buildings caught Ethan’s eye.

“Is that…?” he began, but Langston cut him off.

“Yes. Cobalt Solutions. One of the largest cyber contractors in Eastern Europe. They’ve been selling offensive hacking tools to hostile states.”

Ethan’s stomach tightened. Cobalt Solutions was infamous in the hacker community, a shadowy company that straddled the line between legitimate business and outright espionage.

“What does this have to do with me?”

Langston leaned forward. “We need someone who can infiltrate their systems. Find out what they’re selling and who they’re selling it to. And—if necessary—destroy it.”

Ethan closed the folder and shoved it back across the table. “I’m not interested. Find someone else.”

“You’re the best,” Langston said simply. “And we both know you’re not walking away from this.”

Ethan stared at him, anger bubbling beneath the surface. “You think you can blackmail me into this?”

Langston’s expression didn’t change. “Blackmail isn’t necessary. You’ve already made enemies in that world. This mission is as much about protecting you as it is about stopping them.”

Ethan’s hands tightened into fists. He didn’t need protection. He needed to be left alone. But the way Langston spoke, the way he held himself, told Ethan this wasn’t a negotiable situation.

“Fine,” Ethan said at last. “But when this is over, I’m out. Permanently.”

Langston’s lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile. “We’ll see.”

As Ethan left the café, the rain pounding harder against the pavement, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just crossed a line—one that there would be no coming back from.

[Index]

[Next Chapter]