The email sat at the top of Marcus’s inbox, a neon sign in a dark alleyway:
“Accessing Local Directory...” the screen read. “Target Confirmed: Marcus Thorne.”
He realized then that the "leak" wasn't about Nadia at all. It was a mirror. And he’d just invited the thief inside.
Suddenly, Marcus’s own screen began to fill with images. They weren't of Nadia. They were of him . Photos from his own hard drive—his tax returns, his private emails, a blurry photo of his credit card he’d taken to remember the numbers.
Marcus froze. He typed back, his fingers trembling. “Who is this? How do you know my name?”