Chapter 1: The Monday Morning Felony

The difference between a twenty-year prison sentence and a fat consulting check usually came down to whether or not you were wearing a lanyard.

Niko Webb was not wearing a lanyard. Not yet.

At this precise moment, 02:14 AM on a Tuesday, Niko was upside down, his blood rushing to his head, wedged into a space no human being was designed to occupy. He was squeezed between a pressurized FM-200 gas canister and a bundle of CAT-6 cables thick enough to choke a python. The server room of Veridian Pharmaceuticals hummed with a sound that wasn't quite noise and wasn't quite silent; it was the heavy, oppressive vibration of a billion dollars' worth of trade secrets flowing through copper and glass.

A small shiver went through his body. Corporate server farms were kept at a clinically precise sixty degrees to keep the processors from melting down, but down here on the floor, in the crawl space behind Rack 42, it felt like the inside of a meat locker.

Niko adjusted his glasses with his shoulder, wincing as the sharp edge of a bracket dug into his ribs. He couldn't move his arms more than six inches in any direction. If he slipped, if he jostled the rack too hard, he might trigger the vibration sensors. If he triggered the sensors, the room would seal, and the FM-200 system would dump enough inert gas into the chamber to extinguish a fire in three seconds.

It would also extinguish Niko. FM-200 didn't poison you; it just politely displaced all the oxygen in the room until you fell asleep and never woke up. It was a clean, expensive way to die.

"Talk to me, Jax," Niko whispered. His voice was barely a breath, swallowed instantly by the white noise of the cooling fans.

A static pop crackled in his left earwig, followed by the sound of crinkling foil.

"I'm seeing a ghost, buddy," Jax's voice came back, sounding entirely too relaxed.

Jax Miller was currently parked in a nondescript utility van two blocks away, likely with his feet up on the dashboard. While Niko was contemplating death by asphyxiation, Jax was undoubtedly enjoying the carnitas burrito they had picked up from a taco truck in Silver Lake an hour ago.

"Define ghost," Niko said, his fingers working delicately on the panel in front of him.

"Security guard. Doing a round," Jax said, chewing. "He's early. He wasn't supposed to be at the South Wing until 02:30. Maybe he skipped his bathroom break. Or maybe he's just really passionate about pharmaceutical inventory."

"Is he coming in?"

"He's at the keypad. He's punching it in. Yeah, he's coming in. You got a problem, Niko."

Niko squeezed his eyes shut for a second, visualizing the schematic of the room. He was in the Deep Storage aisle. It was the furthest point from the door, a maze of towering black monoliths blinking with blue and green LEDs.

"How long?" Niko asked.

"He's heavy, he's tired, and he's holding a flashlight that looks like a baton," Jax narrated. "Walking speed is... let's say, lethargic. You have thirty seconds before he reaches your row. Maybe forty if he stops to check his phone."

"I need sixty."

"Then you better hope he stops to tie his shoe. Or has a minor cardiac event. I'm rooting for the shoe, personally."

Niko ignored him. He opened his eyes and focused on the task.

The target was the redundancy port on the back of the main SQL server. It was a physical access point, a relic of an older system architecture that Veridian's IT department had been too lazy to upgrade. They assumed no one would ever get close enough to plug into it. They assumed their biometric locks, their pressure-sensitive floors, and their roving guards were enough.

They were wrong.

Niko pulled his Flipper Zero (a hacking tool that looked like a harmless Tamagotchi toy) from his pocket. He connected it to the server port via a slender USB-C cable.

His laptop, balanced precariously on his stomach, flared to life. The screen washed his face in a pale, ghostly blue light. He typed a command string he had memorized three years ago, his fingers moving with the muscle memory of a concert pianist.

> Sudo_Root /execute_packet_sniff.exe

> Bypass_Auth: TRUE

> Target: /admin_cache

The screen turned red. ACCESS DENIED.

"Damn it," Niko hissed.

"Language," Jax scolded in his ear. "Status?"

"They patched the kernel," Niko muttered, sweat beading on his upper lip despite the cold. "The exploit I wrote last week isn't working. The system is rejecting the handshake."

"The guard is at Row 10, Niko. You're at Row 42. He's walking and he's sweeping that flashlight around like he's hunting for raccoons."

Niko's mind raced. He didn't see code; he saw architecture and lines connecting systems. He saw the digital building blocks of the security infrastructure. If the front door was locked, you tried the window. If the window was locked, you tried the chimney.

"I'm going to force a handshake," Niko said. "I'm going to trick the server into thinking I'm a backup drive."

"That sounds risky."

"It's loud," Niko corrected. "Digitally loud. If the SysAdmin is awake, he's going to see a massive spike."

"It's 2:15 in the morning, Niko. The SysAdmin is asleep. Do it."

Niko's fingers flew. He rewrote the header of his script on the fly, changing his device ID to match the serial number of a standard Veridian hard drive he'd gleaned from a dumpster-dive last week.

Enter.

The progress bar appeared. Authenticating…

10%...

The sound of the door opening echoed through the massive room. It wasn't a subtle sound. It was the heavy, hydraulic hiss of a seal breaking, followed by the clack of a magnetic lock disengaging.

Niko froze. He killed the backlight on his laptop screen, plunging his little crawlspace back into shadow.

"He's in," Jax whispered. The chewing had stopped. "I'm losing visual. He's in the blind spot of camera four. You're on your own, kid."

Niko held his breath. He could hear the footsteps now. Heavy rubber soles on the raised anti-static floor tiles. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The footsteps were slow, rhythmic, and getting louder.

Niko looked down at his screen. The backlight was off, but the faint glow of the LEDs on the server rack illuminated the progress bar.

45%...

The footsteps stopped.

Niko's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Had he been seen? Had he left a scuff mark on the floor?

A beam of yellow light sliced through the darkness above him, cutting across the ceiling tiles. Dust motes danced in the shaft of light. The guard was checking the ceiling for tampering.

"Come on," Niko willed the computer. "Move."

60%...

The footsteps resumed. Closer.

Niko was a "White Hat" (an ethical hacker hired to find holes in security) but at this moment, the distinction felt purely academic. If this guard found him, he wouldn't ask for a business card. He would see a figure in a black hoodie huddled behind a server rack in the middle of the night. And judging by the heavy utility belt Niko had glimpsed on the schematic, this guard was armed. Taser, baton, maybe a sidearm.

Veridian Pharmaceuticals didn't mess around with corporate espionage.

85%...

The beam of light swept lower. It raked across the rows of servers, illuminating the peeling stickers and the tangle of cables.

The guard was at Row 40. Two rows away.

Niko could smell him now. Old coffee, dry cleaning chemicals, and stale sweat. The smell of a man working a double shift.

95%...

"Come on," Niko breathed.

99%...

UPLOAD COMPLETE.

Niko yanked the cable free. He snapped the Flipper Zero back into his pocket. He reached for his laptop to close the lid—

But his elbow knocked against the FM-200 canister.

CLANG.

It wasn't a loud noise. It was a hollow, metallic ring, like a spoon dropping in a sink. But in the humming silence of the server room, it sounded like a gunshot.

The footsteps stopped instantly.

"Who's there?" the guard shouted. His voice cracked slightly, skipping from boredom to panic in a single syllable.

Niko didn't move. He didn't breathe. He pressed himself flat against the cold metal of the floor, hoping he looked like a bundle of trash.

"I said, who is there!" the guard yelled, louder this time. The beam of light swung wildly. It slashed across the floor, zigzagging between the racks.

"Dispatch, this is Unit 4," the guard's voice crackled, distorted by a radio. "I heard a noise in Deep Storage. Possible intruder."

Niko closed his eyes. The game was up.

He had two choices.

Choice A: Stay hidden. Hope the guard didn't check behind Rack 42. Wait for the police to arrive with dogs. Get arrested. Spend the night in a holding cell until his credentials cleared in the morning.

Choice B: Control the narrative.

Niko chose B.

He rolled out from under the rack. It was an awkward, undignified movement that involved a lot of scuffling and a distinct lack of grace. He popped up to his knees, blinking in the sudden glare of the flashlight that blinded him instantly.

"Freeze!" the guard screamed. "Hands! Show me your hands!"

Niko threw his hands up, palms open. His laptop slid off his lap and clattered onto the floor.

"Whoa! Easy!" Niko shouted, shielding his eyes with one hand. "Don't shoot! I'm unarmed! I'm literally holding a laptop!"

The guard didn't lower the light. Niko could see the silhouette of a heavy man in a uniform that was too tight around the waist. His hand was trembling as it hovered over the grip of a Taser X26.

"Don't move a muscle," the guard commanded, breathless. "Turn around. Face the rack. Hands on your head."

"Okay, okay," Niko said, keeping his voice level. He needed to de-escalate. Adrenaline made people stupid, and a stupid man with a taser was a dangerous combination. "I'm turning around. Slowly. My name is Niko Webb. I'm authorized to be here."

"Shut up," the guard spat. "You're trespassing."

"I'm not trespassing," Niko said, facing the blinking lights of the server he had just violated. "I'm auditing. Check my back pocket. Left side."

"I said shut up!"

"Sir, I'm going to need you to listen to me," Niko said, injecting a tone of boredom into his voice that he definitely didn't feel. "If you taze me, I'm going to sue you, and then I'm going to sue Veridian, and more importantly, I'm going to spill my coffee on your floor. In my back pocket, there is a badge. Reach in and take it."

The guard hesitated. The silence stretched, heavy and taut.

"Do it," Niko said. "But be careful, I have a receipt for a breakfast burrito in there, don't crinkle it."

He felt the guard's hand roughly pat his pocket. The plastic badge holder was yanked out.

"Turn around," the guard grunted.

Niko turned. The flashlight was no longer in his eyes; it was trained on the badge dangling from the guard's fingers.

N. WEBB - EXTERNAL SECURITY AUDITOR - CLEARANCE LEVEL 5.

The guard stared at the badge. Then he stared at Niko. Then back at the badge. The tension in the room didn't vanish, but it changed flavor. It went from deadly threat to administrative headache.

The guard lowered the flashlight. He looked like his name was Gary. He looked like he had sore feet and a mortgage and absolutely no patience for this nonsense.

"You're the Pen-Tester?" Gary asked, sounding disgusted. "Management said you guys were coming next week."

"Management lied," Niko said, finally standing up and dusting off his knees. "That's part of the test, Gary. Surprise."

Niko reached down and picked up his laptop. He checked the casing. No cracks. Thank god.

"You scared the hell out of me," Gary said, holstering his taser but looking like he regretted it. "I almost lit you up."

"And you would have missed," Niko said, regaining his composure as he brushed a cobweb off his shoulder. "Because your stance is terrible and you're shaking."

Gary scowled. "I caught you, didn't I?"

Niko smirked. He tapped his earpiece. "Jax? Did we get the packet?"

"Packet is secure," Jax's voice came back, sounding muffled, like his mouth was full again. "Upload confirmed. We own the network."

Niko looked at Gary. He pointed to the server rack behind him. A tiny green light was blinking on the device he had planted.

"Actually, Gary," Niko said, clipping his badge onto his hoodie. "Technically, I've been inside your system for three minutes. I have your employee ID, your shift schedule, and the passcode to the service elevator."

Gary blinked. "The elevator code changes every week."

"It's 1-2-3-4-Star," Niko deadpanned. "And you have it written on a sticky note attached to your thermos in the break room."

Gary's hand instinctively went to his belt, where his thermos usually hung. It wasn't there.

"You guys need to upgrade the firmware on your mag-locks," Niko continued, walking past the stunned guard toward the exit. "And tell your supervisor the motion sensors in the ceiling are calibrated too low. I crawled right under them."

Niko pushed open the heavy door of the server room and stepped out into the hallway. The air was warmer here, smelling of floor wax.

"Jax," Niko said into the comms. "Bring the van around. I'm done."

"Did you get tased?" Jax asked.

"No."

"Shame. I had five bucks on it."

Niko walked down the pristine, white corridor of the Veridian building, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. The adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving that familiar, hollow ache in his chest. The crash.

He had won. He had beaten the system. He had proven, once again, that he was smarter than the machine.

So why did it feel so… boring?

Hours later, the adrenaline had curdled. It was replaced by the crushing, soul-sucking lethargy of a conference room that smelled of dry-erase markers and aggressive cologne.

Niko sat at a mahogany table that was long enough to land a Cessna on. He was staring at a PowerPoint slide he had written himself, projected onto a screen that cost more than his college tuition. The slide contained a single, high-resolution photograph.

It was a picture of a yellow Post-it note stuck to a plastic thermos. On the note, written in blue Sharpie, was the sequence: 1-2-3-4-Star.

"This," Niko said, gesturing vaguely at the screen with a laser pointer, "is your firewall."

Across the table, Mr. Henderson, the CEO of Veridian Pharmaceuticals, leaned forward. Henderson was a man who looked like he had been manufactured in a factory that produced high-end luggage. He was tanned, polished, and exuded the kind of confidence that only comes from having a golden parachute clause in your contract.

Next to him sat Dave, the Director of IT Security. Dave did not look like luggage. Dave looked like a man who was actively trying to dissolve into his chair. His tie was loosened, his face was flushed, and he was staring at Niko with a hatred usually reserved for people who kicked puppies.

"Explain," Henderson barked. He didn't ask questions; he issued commands.

"It's the service elevator code," Niko said, dropping the laser pointer onto the table. It made a sharp clack. "Your night guard, Gary, has trouble remembering numbers. So he wrote it down. I walked in the front door, said hello to Gary, waited for him to turn around to grab his coffee, read the note, and walked into your secure server farm."

Jax, sitting to Niko's right, let out a short, sharp snort of laughter. He quickly turned it into a cough.

Jax Miller was wearing a suit that he claimed was vintage Armani but was almost certainly a polyester blend he'd bought off a rack in Burbank. It shimmered slightly under the fluorescent lights. While Niko was the technical brain of their operation (Webb & Miller Security Consultants) Jax was the Face. He was supposed to be the charmer, the closer, the guy who made corporate executives feel good about paying them fifty thousand dollars to break into their buildings.

But today, the Face was distracted.

Niko glanced sideways. Jax had his phone hidden under the rim of the mahogany table. His thumb was twitching against the screen, refreshing a page over and over again. Niko caught a glimpse of the screen: DraftKings. Live Odds. Korean Baseball League.

"This is preposterous," Dave sputtered, finally finding his voice. He slammed a hand on the table. "Mr. Henderson, these men are frauds. They didn't hack our system. They... they tricked us!"

Niko looked at Dave. He felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. It was the same conversation, every single time.

"Dave," Niko said, his voice level. "You spent four million dollars on biometric scanners and military-grade encryption. But you pay your night guards eighteen dollars an hour and don't let them take bathroom breaks. Of course he wrote the code down. He's tired."

"You cheated!" Dave accused, pointing a trembling finger. "That wasn't a penetration test. That was... that was social engineering!"

"It was theft, Dave," Niko corrected. "Criminals cheat. That's the whole point. If I were a Russian ransomware gang, I wouldn't be giving you a PowerPoint presentation right now. I'd be encrypting your hard drives and asking for ten million in Bitcoin."

Henderson held up a hand. The room went silent.

"So," the CEO said, turning his gaze on his IT Director. "You're telling me that my intellectual property, the patents for our new cardiac drug, was protected by a sticky note?"

"Sir, it's a nuanced situation—" Dave began.

"It's not nuanced," Henderson cut him off. He turned back to Niko. "You got into the server room. Then what?"

Niko clicked the remote. The slide changed.

The new image showed Niko, grinning widely, holding a thumbs-up next to the main server rack. In his other hand, he was holding a hard drive labeled CONFIDENTIAL - PHASE III TRIALS.

"I pulled this in three minutes," Niko said. "I also installed a packet sniffer that captured every email your VP of Sales sent this morning. By the way, he's cheating on his wife with his Pilates instructor. You might want to flag that as a blackmail risk."

Henderson stared at the screen. The vein in his temple throbbed once, visibly.

"We're done here," Henderson said. He reached for his checkbook.

Niko felt the tension leave his shoulders. This was the moment. The exit.

"Dave," Henderson said, not looking up as he scribbled his signature with a fountain pen that cost more than Niko's first car. "Pack your things. You're fired."

"Sir!" Dave cried, standing up. "You can't do this! I built this system—"

"A sticky note," Henderson said cold. He tore the check out of the book and slid it across the mahogany table toward Jax. "Get out of my building. Both of you. Before I have you arrested for trespassing."

Jax snatched the check before it even stopped moving. His eyes widened as he saw the number.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Henderson," Jax beamed, flashing a smile that was all teeth and charm. "We'll send over the full report by EOD. And hey, maybe hire Gary for the day shift. He makes good coffee."

They walked toward the elevators in silence, the heavy oak doors of the boardroom swinging shut behind them. The hallway was lined with abstract art that looked like it had been painted by a depressed robot.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, shielding them from the receptionist's view, Jax let out a whoop that echoed in the small metal box.

"Fifty. Thousand. Dollars!" Jax yelled, kissing the check. "Did you see Dave's face? He looked like he was going to vomit on his loafers. Oh my god, that was beautiful."

Niko leaned against the back wall of the elevator, watching the floor numbers tick down. 20... 19... 18…

"He lost his job, Jax," Niko said quietly.

"He deserved it! The guy was a pompous ass." Jax tucked the check into his jacket pocket, patting it affectionately. He pulled out his phone again. "Okay, bank closes in an hour. We deposit this, and split it with Lewis. That's twenty-five large for you, my friend. What are you gonna do? Buy a new server? Upgrade your rig?"

Niko watched Jax. He saw the tremor in his friend's hand as he unlocked his phone. He saw the sweat on Jax's upper lip that hadn't been there ten minutes ago.

"Jax," Niko said.

"Yeah?" Jax didn't look up. He was typing furiously.

"How much do you owe?"

Jax froze. His thumb hovered over the screen. He looked up, his expression shifting from manic joy to something brittle and defensive.

"What? I don't owe anything. I'm flush. We're flush."

"You were checking the odds on the KBO League during the meeting," Niko said. "And last week it was the ponies. And the week before that, you asked for an advance."

Jax laughed, but it sounded hollow. He pocketed the phone. "It's recreation, Niko. Some people do yoga. I bet on the Bears. It's a hobby."

"A hobby doesn't make you sweat in air conditioning," Niko said.

The elevator dinged. Ground floor. The doors opened into the cavernous marble lobby of the Veridian building. Security guards, all awake and alert now, watched them warily.

"I'm fine," Jax said, his voice dropping. He put a hand on Niko's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It felt less like reassurance and more like he was steadying himself. "Seriously. I had a bad run last month, but this check? This clears the books. I'm out of the hole. Clean slate."

Niko wanted to believe him. He really did. Jax was his oldest friend, the guy who had pulled him out of his shell in high school, the guy who had convinced him to turn his hacking skills into a legitimate business instead of a one-way ticket to federal prison.

But Niko knew systems. He knew patterns. And Jax was a system that was crashing.

"Okay," Niko said, letting it go, for now. "Clean slate."

They walked out through the revolving doors into the blinding Los Angeles heat. The smog lay heavy over the city, trapping the exhaust fumes and the noise of a million cars.

Jax loosened his tie immediately, inhaling deeply. "God, I love this town. Smells like opportunity."

"Smells like sulfur," Niko muttered, shielding his eyes.

"You're such a buzzkill. We just scored! We're rich!" Jax did a little spin on the sidewalk, dodging a bewildered tourist. "Come on. We celebrate. Tacos? Sushi? Strip club? Just kidding, strip clubs are depressing in the daytime. Tacos it is."

Niko stopped walking. He looked at the endless stream of traffic on Wilshire Boulevard. He looked at the towering glass building they had just left. He looked at the check in Jax's pocket that represented a year's worth of rent for most people, earned in a few hours of work.

He felt... nothing.

No satisfaction. No thrill. Just the grey, static buzz of a loop he had been running for too long.

Break in. Write report. Get paid. Repeat.

"I can't," Niko said.

Jax stopped. "Can't what? Eat tacos? Everyone can eat tacos."

"I can't do this anymore, Jax. The jobs. The Daves. The lanyards."

Jax's smile faltered. "Whoa, hey. Don't go existential on me before lunch. You're just crashing. It's the adrenaline dump. You need protein."

"I need a reset," Niko said. He pulled his phone out. "I'm serious."

"About what?"

"Greece."

Jax blinked. "The vacation thing? I thought you were joking."

"My mom sent me a text this morning. She asked if I called Uncle Stavros." Niko stared at the screen of his phone. "I haven't taken a vacation in four years. I have a hundred grand in savings and I sleep on a mattress I found on Craigslist. What is the point of all this money if we just... stay here?"

Jax looked at Niko. He seemed to calculate the angles. If Niko quit, the business died. If the business died, the checks stopped. If the checks stopped…

Jax's face shifted into that familiar, charming mask. The salesman was back.

"You're right," Jax said, clapping his hands together. "You are absolutely right. You need to reconnect with your roots! Ancestral homeland! Feta cheese! Olive oil!"

"I'm not going for the olive oil," Niko said. "I'm going to see where I came from."

"And I," Jax said, pointing a thumb at his own chest, "am coming with you. To protect you. From the... you know. Gypsies. And sunburn."

"I didn't invite you."

"I'm inviting myself. And Lewis. We'll make it a boys' trip. The Three Musketeers take Athens." Jax's eyes lit up, and for a second, the desperation was gone, replaced by genuine excitement. "Think about it, Niko. No firewalls. No servers. Just us, the beach, and absolutely zero responsibilities."

Niko looked at his friend. He looked at the smog. He thought about the server room.

"Fine," Niko said, a small smile finally breaking through. "But we do it my way. No screens. No betting. No jobs."

"Hand to God," Jax promised, holding up a hand. "I'll be a monk. A monk in a Speedo."

Niko shook his head and scrolled through his contacts until he found the number. Uncle Stavros.

"I'm going to call him," Niko said. "Get some recommendations."

"Do it," Jax urged. "Ask him where the best bars are."

Niko hit dial. The phone rang once. Twice.

The sidewalk heat was radiating through the soles of Niko's sneakers, but the voice coming through the phone was pure, unadulterated Baltimore thunder.

"Niko!" Uncle Stavros's voice boomed. The man didn't use a phone so much as he barked at it until the cellular towers surrendered. "My favorite nephew! To what do I owe this pleasure? Did you finally get arrested? Did they catch you stealing the internet?"

"No, Uncle. Not yet," Niko said, tilting the phone away from his ear so Jax could eavesdrop.

In the background, Niko could hear the distinct, rhythmic chaos of the Baltimore shipping docks. The screech of crane pulleys, the pneumatic hiss of truck brakes, and a man in the distance yelling something in Greek that sounded like a colorful anatomical impossibility. Uncle Stavros ran an import-export business that seemed to involve a lot of heavy lifting and very few receipts.

"I'm thinking of taking that trip," Niko continued, stepping into the narrow sliver of shade provided by a bus stop bench. "The one you're always talking about. I'm going to Greece."

The noise on the other end of the line stopped. Not just the yelling, but the forklifts too. It was as if Stavros had covered the receiver, but the silence that followed had its own weight.

"Greece," Stavros repeated. The jovial, booming baritone was gone. His voice dropped into a gravelly register that made Niko's neck hairs stand up. "That is... good. Very good. A man who forgets his roots is a man who builds a house on sand, Niko. You understand this?"

"I just wanted to see the village, Uncle. Drink some wine. Maybe see a little history and our heritage."

"Listen to me," Stavros said, and the intensity was palpable. "The village is there. The sea is there. But the world is changing. Greece is beautiful, but it is complicated. You are a smart boy. Too smart for your own good. You look at a lock and you see a puzzle. In Greece, sometimes the lock is there for a reason."

Niko frowned. "Are you telling me not to go?"

"I am telling you to be a tourist," Stavros said firmly. "Eat the feta. Visit the Acropolis. But do not look behind the curtains. Do not look for the puzzles. You go with the gambling friend? The one with the shiny suits and the empty pockets?"

Niko glanced at Jax, who was currently checking his hair in the reflection of a dark-windowed Tesla. "Yeah, Jax is coming. And Lewis."

"Lewis," Stavros grunted. "The boy who is afraid of his own shadow. Good. He will keep you from doing anything stupid. He is the anchor. Jax is the sail. You are the rudder. A rudder without a sail goes nowhere, but a sail without a rudder ends up on the rocks."

Stavros cleared his throat, a sound like a woodchipper masticating a stump.

"I have friends in Athens. Good people. I will send you a list of tavernas. But I will also give you a number. You write this down. Now."

Niko patted his pockets, pulling out a crumpled receipt from the taco truck. He clicked his pen. "Okay, I'm writing."

Stavros rattled off a ten-digit number with a local Athens area code.

"This is a special number," Stavros said. "You do not call this to ask for directions to the beach. You only call this if the air gets thin. If the police bother you, if you find yourself in a room where the door only locks from the outside... you call. You understand?"

"Uncle, you're scaring me. It's a summer vacation, not a spy novel."

"It is only a spy novel if you think you are the hero, Niko. Just be the tourist." Stavros paused. "And if you call that number, tell the man who answers: 'The souvlaki is cold.'"

"The souvlaki is— wait, what? Why?"

"Do not question the old ways," Stavros snapped. "It is the phrase. It means the fire is out and the house is empty. It means you need a friend. Now, go. Kiss the ground for me. And don't let Jax touch the steering wheel."

The line went dead.

Niko stared at the number on the back of the receipt. The blue ink looked harmless, but the instructions felt like a lead weight in his pocket.

"What did the big man say?" Jax asked, finally peeling himself away from his reflection.

"He gave me a number for emergency souvlaki," Niko muttered, pocketing the phone. "And he says you're the sail."

"I like it," Jax grinned. "Catching the wind. Pushing us forward. So, what's next? We need to mobilize the anchor."

Thirty minutes later, they were in a basement in Alhambra that smelled exclusively of ozone and stale Cool Ranch Doritos.

The room was illuminated by the flickering blue light of six different monitors, casting long, jittery shadows against walls lined with boxes of obsolete hardware. In the center of the chaos sat Lewis Chang. He was wearing an oversized hoodie despite the 90-degree weather outside and was currently using a pair of tweezers to clean the dust out of a mechanical keyboard.

"No," Lewis said, not looking up.

"You haven't even heard the pitch yet," Jax groaned, leaning against a stack of vintage servers.

"I heard 'trip'. Trip implies motion. Motion implies friction. Friction leads to heat, injury, and the potential for contact with unwashed surfaces," Lewis said, his voice a steady, rapid-fire drone. "I have everything I need right here. I have a fiber-optic line, I have a delivery app that brings me calories, and I have a controlled environment with a HEPA filter."

Niko walked over to the main terminal, glancing at the scrolling lines of code on the screen. "We have twenty-five thousand dollars for your share of the Veridian job, Lewis. And we're taking three months off."

Lewis finally looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with the red fatigue of a man who lived in a different timezone than the sun.

"Three months? In the physical world?"

"Greece," Niko said. "The islands. No clients. No Dave from IT. No one telling us what to do."

Lewis shuddered. "Do you know how many pathogens are in a standard airplane cabin? It's a flying Petri dish, Niko. And the Greek sun? My skin doesn't tan. It just screams."

"We'll get you a private villa," Jax interjected, sensing a crack in the armor. "With a pool. And high-speed internet. You won't even have to leave the house if you don't want to. But think about the food, man. Real lamb. Real olives. None of that canned garbage you eat. Lewis, you really need to get out of this house. Meet some women. Explore the world!"

Lewis looked at Niko, then at the check Jax was waving like a flag of surrender. He looked back at his monitors and the digital cage he'd built for himself.

"Is the internet really high-speed?" Lewis asked suspiciously. "I'm not dealing with 3G satellite lag. I have needs."

"The best," Niko lied, knowing full well they'd be lucky to find a stable signal in the village. "And I need you, Lewis. If Jax gets us into trouble, I need someone who can actually think under pressure without flirting with the consequences."

Lewis sighed, a long, mournful sound. He reached for a bottle of hand sanitizer and rubbed it vigorously over his palms.

"Fine. But I'm bringing my own sheets. And if I get a parasite, I'm suing both of you."

Jax let out a whoop and slapped the desk, sending a half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew wobbling.

"The Three Musketeers!" Jax shouted. "To Athens! To the cradle of civilization! To... what did your uncle say? The rudder?"

"The rocks," Niko corrected, but he was already looking at flights on his phone.

The adrenaline from the server room was long gone, replaced by a different kind of buzz, a low-frequency vibration that felt like a system reboot. He didn't know why Uncle Stavros was so worried. It was just a vacation. They were three smart guys with too much money and a summer to kill.

As they walked out of the basement, Niko rubbed the smudge of ink on his palm. The number was fading, but the phrase was stuck in his head.

The souvlaki is cold.

What does that even mean?