Maya hadn't slept.
6:30 a.m.
She stared at the cracked ceiling of her studio, eyes burning. Every time she closed her eyelids, she saw that blood-red message again:
[TOMMY TOLD ME ABOUT YOU.]
How was that possible?
Tommy had been dead for a year. A whole year fighting ghosts alone, chasing clues that led nowhere, trails that vanished the moment she got close.
Maya got up slowly, her joints cracking like those of an old woman. At twenty-four, she already felt worn out by life. Sleepless nights, the rage eating her alive, the loneliness.
She shuffled to the kitchenette. Three dirty mugs sat in the sink. An empty cereal box lay on the counter. Her fridge held two cans of Red Bull and a yogurt that had expired a week ago.
"Breakfast of champions," she muttered, popping open a can.
The caffeine burst in her mouth. Too sweet, too artificial. But she needed it to last until the meeting.
6:35 a.m.
In exactly seven hours and twenty-five minutes, she'd be face-to-face with Damien Cross.
Maya walked to the window. Across the bay, San Francisco was slowly emerging from the morning fog. The glass skyscrapers reflected the first rays of sunlight.
She collapsed back in front of her screens. Automatically, she opened a browser and typed: [Damien Cross biography].
Thousands of results appeared. News articles, interviews, gala photos. The face of the most powerful man in Silicon Valley stared back at her.
Perfectly styled black hair. Steel-gray eyes. Square jaw. Flawless black suit. He looked exactly like what he was: a predator in a three-piece suit.
Maya clicked the first article. [Fortune Magazine – "The Mysterious Rise of Damien Cross"].
[Born in 1996 to a modest family in Detroit. Parents died in a house fire when he was twelve. Placed in foster care. Child prodigy in computer science. First million at eighteen with a cybersecurity startup. First billion at twenty-five. Today, at twenty-eight, he leads a tech empire valued at over fifty billion dollars.]
Maya kept reading, but the official articles held nothing interesting. Just endless praise about his business genius, philanthropy, and charm.
She closed the browser and opened her more... specialized tools.
The underground forums. The sites where hackers, whistleblowers, and paranoids gathered.
[DarkNet_Insider]: Cross isn't clean. Too many rivals suddenly disappear. Too many stolen patents.
[Anonymous_SF]: Heard he's tied to the NSA. Classified contracts.
[TruthSeeker99]: My cousin worked at CrossVault. Got fired after asking too many questions. Now he won't talk.
Maya frowned. Rumors. Conspiracy theories. Nothing solid.
She was about to close everything when a private message popped into her inbox.
[DeepThroat_2025]: Looking for info on Cross? I've got some. But it'll cost you.
Maya hesitated. Darknet informants were often liars or scammers. But sometimes...
[Phoenix_Rising]: How much?
[DeepThroat_2025]: $10,000. In Bitcoin.
[Phoenix_Rising]: You kidding? I'm a student.
[DeepThroat_2025]: Then you're not motivated enough.
[Phoenix_Rising]: 2,000?
[DeepThroat_2025]: 5,000. Final offer.
Maya checked her bank account. $347. A year's worth of side gigs. She'd offered 2,000 on a whim.
[Phoenix_Rising]: I don't have it.
[DeepThroat_2025]: Too bad. Cross is going to eat you alive.
User went offline.
"Asshole," Maya muttered.
She shut the computer and headed for the shower. Hot water was a luxury she couldn't often afford, but today was different. She had to look presentable to meet the devil.
Under the scalding spray, she strategized. Damien Cross had lured her in, but she wasn't walking into that meeting empty-handed. She had leverage.
She knew his cyber defenses. She had infiltrated his servers. She was Phoenix, the hacker no one could trace.
And most of all, she had nothing to lose.
11:30 a.m.
Maya pulled on her favorite ripped jeans, a vintage Ramones t-shirt, and her worn leather jacket. Then she applied makeup carefully. Black eyeliner, dark lipstick. She wanted to look dangerous.
In the cracked mirror above her sink, a stranger stared back.
Maya slipped her Swiss army knife into her boot, her phone into her pocket. She hesitated, then grabbed her old Taser too.
"Just in case."
12:45 p.m.
The San Francisco metro reeked of piss and disinfectant. Maya sat at the back of a train car, hood up, watching the other passengers. Hipsters heading to dead-end jobs. Tourists with their cameras. Homeless folks looking for warmth.
No one noticed her.
Valencia Station. She got off and climbed to street level.
The Mission District buzzed with life. Mexican restaurants, vintage shops, art galleries. The scent of tacos mixed with weed and roasted coffee.
The Ritual Café stood on the corner of Valencia and 21st Street. A black-painted facade with tinted windows.
The perfect place for a discreet conversation.
Maya paused across the street and observed. A few customers sat at outdoor tables. None looked like a billionaire.
1:58 p.m.
She crossed and pushed open the door. Inside, the lighting was dim, bathed in violet neon. Black leather couches, metal tables. An ambient electro playlist played in the background.
At the back, in a secluded booth, a man read a newspaper. Impeccable black suit. Perfectly styled hair.
Damien Cross looked up.
Their eyes met.
Maya felt the world around her go still. In photos, he was handsome. In real life, he was... magnetic. Dangerous. His gray eyes sliced through her like lasers.
He smiled.
"Maya Chen," he said, his voice deep and smooth. "Or should I say... Phoenix?"
She approached slowly, every instinct on high alert.
"Mr. Cross."
He stood and extended his hand. Maya hesitated, then shook it briefly. His skin was warm. Soft. Hands that had never done manual labor.
"Please," he said, gesturing to the seat across from him. "We have a lot to talk about."
Maya sat, keeping her distance. Her fingers brushed the Taser in her pocket.
"What'll you have?" he asked, signaling a waiter.
"Nothing."
"Oh, come on. Coffee? Tea? You look tired."
"Why did you ask me to come here?"
Damien Cross leaned back in his seat.
"Because you want the truth about your brother," he said at last. "And because I do too."
Maya felt her blood run cold.
"What do you know about Tommy?"
"More than you'd imagine." He took a sip of his espresso. "Your brother used to work for me."