Crossed Lines의 모든 챕터: 챕터 11 - 챕터 20

POV: Elara DuvalThe quickest way out was through the side corridor past the catering station. Hailey was still deep in conversation with a marketing director, which meant Elara had a clean break; no questions, no goodbyes.She slipped into the hall, the buzz of the main ballroom fading behind her. The click of her heels echoed against marble and glass. Her coat ticket was in her hand. Two more minutes and she’d be free.“Leaving so soon?”The voice came from her left, smooth and unhurried, like it belonged to someone who never needed to raise it to be heard.She turned. Damon Cross stood at the intersection of two hallways, angled just enough to block her path without making it look like he was blocking her path. His black suit was tailored within an inch of its life, but it wasn’t the clothes that unsettled her, it was the way he looked at her, as though she were a page in a book he’d already read but was still interested in annotating.“Long day,” she said, keeping her voice neutra

POV: Elara DuvalShe’d almost turned around at the door. The invitation; handwritten, discreet, and somehow slipped into her apartment without her noticing, had been vague enough to avoid outright refusal, but specific enough to make her suspicious.The charity auction dinner was not her scene. It was a breeding ground for influence peddlers, corporate sharks, and people who believed donations bought them moral high ground. She’d only agreed because Hailey had begged her to “just get out for once” and because… part of her wanted to see if the chess piece had really come from him.The answer came within thirty seconds of stepping into the candlelit dining hall.Damon Cross was already seated at a table in the corner, alone, with a glass of wine he probably hadn’t touched. His eyes found her instantly, the way a hawk spotted movement in tall grass.“Elara,” he said when she approached, as if they were picking up a conversation they’d been having for years. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”“T

POV: Maya TrentBreaking news was usually a sprint. This one felt more like a chess match.Maya sat in her cramped home office, a half-eaten muffin abandoned on the desk beside a sea of sticky notes. Her screens, three of them, yes, because two were never enough flickered with lines of code, forum threads, and digital breadcrumbs.On paper, the cyberattack she was investigating was just another breach. Mid-tier logistics firm, data leak, nothing flashy. But something about it didn’t fit.She’d seen the ShadowByte signature before, the impossible-to-fake stamp of the infamous, elusive coder. Only this time… it felt off. Like someone had studied the Mona Lisa and painted their own version, hoping the casual observer wouldn’t notice the brushstrokes were wrong.She zoomed in on the code, lips curling into a half-smile.“Nice try, rookie,” she muttered.Still, it was good enough to fool most people. Which meant if she’d caught it, others might too, others with more resources, like corpora

POV: Elara DuvalBy mid-morning, Elara was already at the co-working hub.The building was glass and steel, buzzing with freelancers in noise-cancelling headphones. She slid into a corner desk, laptop open, pretending to scroll through emails while her tracker program ran in the background.The signal she’d followed last night was weak, like a fading heartbeat. But it was here. Somewhere in this room.A chair scraped two tables over. Elara glanced up and then immediately looked back down, pulse spiking.Damon Cross.She hadn’t expected to see him here, not in a place like this. His presence was deliberate, not casual, eyes scanning, movements sharp.She shrank into her hoodie, praying he wouldn’t notice her. He wasn’t supposed to connect her to this. Not yet.Her tracker pinged. The copycat’s device was active. And worse still, Damon was moving in the same direction she needed to go.It was only a matter of minutes before one of them reached the source first.The signal grew stronger a

POV: Ava Duval The restaurant smelled like money. Imported wines, polished marble, chandeliers dripping light onto pristine tables,all of it carefully chosen to whisper wealth without having to say it aloud. Ava hated it. She sat across from Clarisse, her mother’s posture flawless, scarf arranged just so. Beside her lounged Sienna Moreau, daughter of Clarisse’s closest confidante. Sienna had that glossy kind of beauty that came from designer everything. Hair perfectly blown out, nails tipped in gleaming white, phone in hand like a weapon. Ava poked at her salad, appetite absent. “So,” Clarisse said lightly, “your step-sister was at the CrossTech symposium. Quite a crowd, I hear. Very… influential.” Her tone made it sound less like praise and more like bait. Sienna leaned in, smirking. “I saw pictures online. Elara looked… fine. Very minimalist.” Her laugh tinkled like glass. “Almost like she forgot the event wasn’t a coffee shop run.” Ava’s fork scraped the plate harder than sh