Hacker • English Version

Chapter 1

Yoko's POV

Whenever I need to make a big decision, I have three ways to deal with it.

First: I called my friend Marissa to check what a normal person would do. And if I'm lucky, her girlfriend Ize might jump in too. But Ize's a thief, so she's not really normal either.

Second: I search the internet and hope someone else has asked the same question. That works great for things like laundry or taking care of houseplants—not so good for anything illegal.

And third: I roll my favorite dice and let luck decide.

I lean back in my desk chair, staring at all my computer screens. The blue light from them makes my skin look sickly. It's late, but that's fine. That's not why I can't think straight. I work better at night anyway—my brain is sharper after midnight.

I grip my dice tightly in my hand and tap them twice on the desk. I can't take my eyes off the screens. I don't even blink.

Faye Malisorn will die tonight.

She still has a few hours. The attack is planned for 5 a.m. After that, she'll just be a pile of limbs and blood on the floor. I wonder if she's having a good night. Did she have something nice for dinner? What was her last meal?

It took me forever to figure out this plan. I had to dig through private servers and encrypted messages. And even then, I found it by accident. Faye's cousin has been very careful. I don't think he knows he's the reason this is happening—that the threat is coming from inside the family.

But I know. I followed his digital trail straight to the killer. He's betraying his own cousin—probably to take over her position. To become the new spy.

That's not how it works. If someone killed me, they wouldn't suddenly become a great hacker. And if someone kills Faye, they won't magically gain her secrets and power. They'll just disappear—fade into nothing. What a waste.

Because Faye is smart. A real genius. That's one reason I like her—or part of it, at least. I don't lie to myself, so I'll admit it: her brown eyes and dark hair don't hurt either.

We're all animals deep down. Even me. And I live more online than in the real world. But my animal side? I really like Faye Malisorn.

—Shit.

I grab my phone, then drop it on the desk with a sigh. I pick it up again, then put it back down. What's the point of calling Marissa? She doesn't know Faye like I do. She hasn't been watching her for months—or years—like a favorite TV show. She's not informed. She doesn't have all the details. She'd probably just tell me to stay out of mob stuff. So I'm not calling her.

And the internet won't help. I doubt there's a forum for "Should I warn a mobster she's about to get stabbed?"

So, that leaves the dice.

Odd number = I warn her.

Even number = I don't.

I let the dice roll across my desk. The sound cuts through the soft music coming from the speakers on every wall. Most of the dice land in a neat circle, but one bounces off the keyboard and drops to the floor.

I frown but start counting the rest first.

Nineteen. Odd number.

Okay.

I get up slowly, my legs stiff and my butt sore from sitting in my expensive leather chair for too long. That chair cost more than my screens, but I still feel like an old lady every time I stand up.

I get obsessed. I focus too hard. That's what happened with Faye. I've spent hours just staring at her stuff—reading her emails, going through her bank accounts (both public and hidden), scanning her calendar, and trying to figure out her private notes.

She's not easy to follow like the others in the city. And I like that.

One time, I hacked into her laptop's webcam and watched her cook for four hours. She made tortellini from scratch and threatened someone over the phone while stirring sauce. Later, she walked through the room shirtless on her way to the shower.

That was a good night.

It's dark under the desk. The lights from my screens don't reach there. I blink and spot the missing die lying by the table leg. My mouth goes dry.

Three.

I pick it up from the floor, dust sticking to it. That makes twenty-two in total. Even number.

So... I won't warn her.

Decision made. Faye Malisorn will die.

── .✦. ──

Okay—forget that.

How do you tell someone they're about to be betrayed? I don't even like sending simple texts. Talking confuses me. Everyday stuff is hard enough. And this? This is way too much.

Even if I figure out the right words, how do I send them?

How do I get in touch with her?

Ideally, I'd leave a secret note on her computer—let her find it on her own and delete every trace I left behind. But I don't have time. She might be sleeping. I need to get her attention—fast.

My brain is spinning. I feel like I need a fan inside my skull.

I jump to my feet and stumble into the kitchen. When did I last eat?

I make a quick bowl of curry-flavored instant noodles and chug a sugary energy drink. Then I drop back into my chair, out of breath.

Focus, Yoko.

This is serious. The dice don't know anything. I can't just sit back and watch Faye Malisorn die.

But I don't want her attention either. She got mad last month just because a neighbor signed for her package. She's private. Protective. And dangerous.

She's not going to like knowing she's been hacked.

I check the clock. It's past 3 a.m. Time is running out.

—Shit. Double shit. Oh shit.

I hacked her phone months ago. She has three:

One for business.
One for family and personal stuff.
And one just for her.

She barely uses the personal one, but I think she likes knowing it's there. That's the one I'm using now. My fingers fly across the screen.

I added a calendar event: I'm being murdered at 5 a.m. Then I set a loud alarm that won't stop until she sees it.

Is that enough? How will I know if she saw it?

I stare at the ivy climbing up the wall next to my desk. My eyes are dry. My heart is racing.

I need to be sure. This is Faye Malisorn. I can't mess this up.

So I set a dozen more alerts on every device I've hacked: Her phones, her laptop, her smartwatch, her tablet. Even her car's GPS will warn her—if she lives long enough to get to it.

Then I turn the volume on everything to max, sit back in my chair, and let it all play.