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When I stepped out of the shower, my boyfriend loitered in the bedroom, waiting to pounce. He drew me into his arms, regardless of the damp towel I was wrapped in, and kissed me.
“You seem preoccupied, Amy.”
“I’m figuring out ways to help you catch these people hounding us, or at least push back on them.”
“What did you do?”
Victor looked concerned, and I understood why. We weren’t tackling the average school bully. This whole debacle was next-level dangerous, and I was a rank amateur in a game potentially involving an alphabet soup of agencies. Of course, he wouldn’t say that, but his concerned expression suggested it.
“I have a friend who dropped out of Columbia last year. She hacks computers, networks, well… almost anything really.”
“A dropout hacker. It’s cliche, Amy. What do you have her doing?”
“Tracking whoever wants to harm me. I asked her to start with my cycling class this morning.”
“What happened?”
“Someone joined and used the class proximity communications system to tell me I was in danger. I don’t know if it was concerned advice or an actual threat.”