Chapter 16: DIVIDED ATTENTION
The subway car rattled through the tunnel, but I barely noticed.
Root's voice echoed in my head. "We'll talk again soon, Marcus. Or whatever your name really is."
She knew my name. She knew I'd been interfering with her operations. She knew I'd joined Finch's team.
How much does she know? How long has she been watching?
I gripped the handrail as the train lurched, forcing my breathing to steady. Panic was useless. Root had found me—that was done. The question now was what to do about it.
My phone buzzed. I flinched before checking—but it was just Finch.
"8 AM tomorrow. Final day of your trial. Don't be late."
Right. The trial. I still had one more day to prove myself, and now Root was circling like a shark that had tasted blood.
One problem at a time. Get home. Sleep. Figure out Root in the morning.
Sleep didn't come.
The alarm went off at 6:30 AM, and I'd managed maybe three hours of broken rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Root's laugh—soft, musical, dangerous.
I showered, dressed, and was at the library by 7:45. The early arrival earned a raised eyebrow from Finch, who was already at his monitors with his morning tea.
"Eager, Mr. Webb?"
"Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd get a head start on whatever today brings."
"Admirable dedication." He didn't quite believe me—I could see it in the way his eyes lingered on the dark circles under my own. "Mr. Reese will arrive shortly. We have a straightforward number today. A good note to end your trial on."
I settled at my workstation and pulled up my Root monitoring protocols while Finch returned to his screens. The system had been running overnight, tracking the digital patterns I'd learned to associate with her movements.
[ALERT: ROOT ACTIVITY DETECTED]
[NEW TARGET IDENTIFIED: VINCENT KEYES]
[THREAT LEVEL: HIGH]
My blood went cold.
Vincent Keyes. The name triggered a cascade of system data—former IFT server technician, 2005-2008. Worked in the facility that housed the Machine's original hardware. Retired early with a generous severance package that probably came with an NDA thick enough to stop bullets.
Root was hunting him. And based on the activity patterns, she was close.
She's accelerating. The phone call last night wasn't just intimidation—it was a distraction.
I pulled up Keyes's current location. Queens. Retired. Living a quiet life that was about to get very loud.
"Mr. Webb?"
I minimized the windows, turning to find Finch watching me. "Yes?"
"You seem distracted. Is something troubling you?"
Only that a homicidal hacker is about to murder someone for Machine access codes, and I can't tell you without revealing everything I know.
"Just reviewing some research. Background material for today's number."
The lie tasted sour, but Finch accepted it with a nod. "Admirable. The number should be arriving shortly."
The day's number was a dentist named Gerald Foster. Routine case—his former business partner was embezzling from their practice and had decided murder was cheaper than a lawsuit. Standard threat, standard resolution.
I worked the case with Reese, providing intel while he ran surveillance. But my attention was split, half on Foster's embezzling partner and half on the alerts pinging from my Root monitoring.
She was moving. Keyes had maybe forty-eight hours before she reached him.
I can warn him. Disrupt her surveillance. But if I disappear to handle it, Finch will notice. The trial will fail.
I made a choice.
During breaks in the Foster case, I sent anonymous warnings to Keyes. Changed his home security codes remotely. Flagged his bank accounts for unusual activity. Small disruptions that might buy time without requiring my physical presence.
[COUNTER-OPERATION: INITIATED]
[ESTIMATED DELAY TO ROOT TIMELINE: 12-24 HOURS]
Not enough. But it was something.
"You're running on fumes."
Reese's voice cut through my exhaustion. We were in his car, waiting for Foster's partner to leave his apartment. I'd been staring at nothing, my third energy drink of the day growing warm in my hand.
"I'm fine."
"You're not." He didn't look at me, eyes fixed on the building entrance. "Whatever's eating you, deal with it. Distracted people get killed."
If you knew what was eating me, you'd probably shoot me yourself.
"It's just the trial. Pressure. I'll be fine once tomorrow's over."
"Uh-huh."
He didn't believe me either. I was collecting skeptics like baseball cards.
Foster's partner emerged from his building. Reese started the car. The case continued.
I fell asleep at my desk that night.
Twenty minutes, maybe thirty. The kind of sleep that leaves you more tired than before, full of half-formed nightmares about phones ringing and voices laughing.
When I woke, Finch was watching me.
"Mr. Webb. Are you quite all right?"
I straightened, wiping a line of drool from my chin. Professional. "Fine. Just reviewing case files. Must have dozed off."
"The Foster case is resolved. Mr. Reese handled the confrontation while you were... resting." There was no judgment in his voice, but the observation cut deep.
"I'm sorry. I've been having trouble sleeping. The trial—"
"Is nearly complete." Finch removed his glasses, polishing them with a cloth from his pocket. "Tomorrow is your final day. I suggest you go home and get actual rest. A desk is not a bed."
"I will."
He watched me gather my things, his expression unreadable. "Marcus. If there's something you need to tell me, now would be the time."
There's a hacker named Root who's hunting people connected to the Machine. She called me last night and knows my name. I've been running counter-operations against her for months. Oh, and I have a magical system in my head that gives me supernatural abilities.
"Nothing, Mr. Finch. Just pre-trial nerves."
He didn't believe me. But he let me go.
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