But first he had to keep Condor happy. He couldn’t raise any alarm bells about Leah until he and Tr0lz had time to finish their exploit. His fingers were damp with sweat as he typed: Dunno.

There was a pause. The cursor blinked at him.

Could Condor sense the lie? Then his words came in a flurry of accusation: Isn’t she with you?

Aiden stared at the question. His lip curved in a smile. He would just let that message sit there for a minute. Because he could. Finally, he typed with painstaking slowness: Nah.

He rubbed the back of his neck. It was slimy with sweat under his black hoody. Then, just to keep Condor from getting all fired up, he added: She said her roommate would be looking for her. She went home.

She’s not responding to my messages, Condor typed.

Give her time, Aiden responded. She had to go the long way home.

As planned, Tr0lz asked: When you gonna doxx Harry Owen?

And as planned, he responded: Tonight. Or tomorrow.

Suddenly, a private message flashed across the screen from Tr0lz: Did you get EVERYTHING?

YES. But I gotta go into hiding. The cops are after me.

Where will we meet?

He hesitated. Was Halifax too dangerous for him now?

But he had no money. He’d blown through the last thousand that Tr0lz had sent him. And Tr0lz—the bastard—told Aiden that he would have to wait until after the break-in of the Owen house for his payday.

Where we planned. 10 tonight.

Aiden glanced at the clock on his computer screen. Damn. The police could have found his trail by now.

He grabbed his army surplus backpack and emptied the pockets. He had twenty-three dollars in cash. Shit.

He ran his fingers—grimy and rough—through his hair. He had grown it out after he was released from the juvenile detention center. It brushed his shoulders, a long, shaggy mane that masked his features when his head was lowered.

What did he have that he could pawn? He scanned his room. It was a shitty room, full of shitty things. Like his life. Thanks to his shitty mother. And his shitty father. He thought of his basement suite at home. The sixty-inch HD television. The tricked-out computer system. The video games center. The rainfall shower with the heated towel racks. The luxury SUV at his disposal whenever he wanted. The endless supply of gourmet food in his mother’s chef’s kitchen. His parents had kicked him out, cut him off.

But he would have the last laugh. They had no idea, no friggin’ clue what he was capable of.