POV Owen
When the world burns for you, sometimes the first spark comes from someone you never expected.
It’s just past midnight when I see it—the headlines flashing across every news channel, every feed, every corner of the internet:
“HACKER KITE CONFESSES IN LIVE STREAM — RECORDINGS LINK TO SILAS KANE.”
A video thumbnail shows his face—hooded, trembling, eyes darting everywhere. And behind him, the faint sound of Jamie’s voice saying, “We’re live, Kite. So make it count.”
I stare at the screen for a full minute before my brain catches up.
Jamie did it.
She actually did it.
The whole room is silent except for the faint hum of the monitor. Noelle’s asleep down the hall, Luna curled against her chest. For the first time in weeks, they look peaceful. I can’t wake them for this. Not yet.
I grab my jacket and head out.
Jamie’s apartment is on the east side—cramped, messy, full of half-finished art projects and cold pizza boxes. The elevator smells like smoke and old perfume.
When she opens the door, she’s barefoot, wearing an oversized hoodie and the kind of grin people wear when they’ve just rewritten history.
“You saw it,” she says, voice still shaking from adrenaline.
“Everyone saw it,” I answer. “Half the country’s streaming it on loop.”
She leans against the doorframe, pretending to yawn. “Guess I’m trending again. That’s two times in one lifetime. Not bad.”
“Jamie.”
She looks up, surprised by the weight in my voice.
I step inside. Her laptop’s still open on the couch—lines of code flashing across the screen, looping footage of Kite’s confession. His voice crackles from the speakers:
“Silas paid me. Vale cleaned it. Adrian delivered it. They made me fake the clip. Tate never killed anyone.”
I turn down the volume. “You risked everything doing this.”
She shrugs, grabbing a soda can from the counter. “I had a debt to clear.”
“You didn’t owe us anything.”
“That’s funny,” she says, sitting cross-legged on the couch. “Because I remember you saying I couldn’t be trusted.”
I wince. “I was wrong.”
She smirks. The words come easier than I expected. “I doubted you. I shouldn’t have.”
Jamie pops the soda tab and takes a long sip, watching me over the rim. “You’re not great at trusting people, are you?”
“No,” I admit. “I learned the hard way what that costs.”
Her eyes soften just slightly. “Yeah. Me too.”
I pace the room, watching the code still running on her laptop. “You traced him through Silas’s shell accounts?”
“Yep. Three reroutes through offshore servers, one burner in Ukraine, and an encrypted route through a gaming forum. Honestly, he wasn’t that smart.”
I arch an eyebrow. “And you did this alone?”
Jamie grins. “Rhea helped me crack the last firewall. Julian bribed a moderator. Teamwork makes the dream work.”
I let out a breath somewhere between a laugh and disbelief. “And no one stopped you?”
“Vale tried,” she says, leaning back. “But I sent her a little teaser clip. Told her if she interfered, I’d stream her next. She backed off.”
“You threatened the District Attorney?”
Jamie smirks. “Just a gentle warning. I have boundaries.”
I shake my head. “You’re insane.”
She smiles wider. “And you’re welcome.”
The confession plays again behind us. Kite’s voice is shaking, desperate, scared. Every word is a nail in Silas’s coffin.
“They set him up. Owen Tate didn’t shoot anyone. The footage was deep-faked, the angle cropped. Silas said if I didn’t do it, he’d—he’d come for my sister.”
Jamie pauses the video. “He didn’t even last five minutes. Guess guilt isn’t good for stamina.”
I stare at the frozen frame on the screen. Kite’s face looks small now. Human. Almost pathetic.
“Silas is finished,” I say quietly.
Jamie glances at me. “So are you, if the press has their way. But hey—better infamous than forgotten.”
I look at her, really look at her. This girl who once almost broke Noelle’s heart, who spiraled out of her own guilt and came back burning brighter. “Why did you do it, Jamie?”
She fiddles with the soda can. “Because I was tired of being part of the problem. Because you two deserved a clean ending. Because—”
She stops, sighs. “Because Noelle still answers my calls, even after everything. That kind of forgiveness makes you want to do something right.”
I nod slowly. “You did.”
“Don’t go soft on me, Tate,” she says with a crooked grin. “I like you better when you’re scary.”
“I’m not scary.”
“You literally walk around like a loaded weapon in human form.”
That makes me laugh—a quiet, unexpected sound that feels strange in my throat.
Jamie tilts her head. “There. That’s new.”
“What is?”
“That.” She points at me. “You’re smiling. You never smile unless someone’s bleeding.”
I try to hide it, but it’s too late. The corner of my mouth stays curved. “Don’t get used to it.”
She smirks. “Oh, I’m framing it. The great Owen Tate, smiling in my living room.”
I chuckle softly. “You know, you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”
“Don’t start with the sentimental crap.”
“I mean it,” I say. “You didn’t have to fix this, but you did. You didn’t just expose a criminal—you freed my family.”
Jamie’s voice drops low. “You’re welcome.” Then she adds, teasing, “Now, next time you see me, maybe don’t aim a gun first?”
I grin wider. “Noted.”
“Seriously.” She pokes my chest. “I like you better when you’re not armed. Less murder-y. More tolerable.”
“I’ll work on that.”
“Please do,” she says. “You’re ruining my aesthetic.”
The tension finally breaks, replaced by something softer—exhaustion, maybe relief. The kind that comes after too many sleepless nights and too many ghosts. I sit beside her, watching the news replay Kite’s confession again and again. Every outlet. Every platform. The truth, finally unchained.
Noelle’s name flashes on the ticker: “Charges against Noelle and Owen Tate dismissed pending federal review.”
Jamie nudges me. “Looks like you’re free, soldier boy.”
“Free,” I repeat quietly, testing the word like it’s fragile. “It’s been a long time.”
She leans back, arms behind her head. “You earned it. Now go home before I start charging for emotional support.”
I stand, heading for the door. At the threshold, I pause. “Jamie.”
She looks up.
“Thank you,” I say. “For all of it.”
Her grin softens. “You can thank me by not dying again. Noelle’s scary when she cries.”
I nod. “I’ll try to behave.”
She waves lazily. “No promises needed. Just keep that smile. You look almost human.”
I laugh under my breath and step into the hallway. The city hums below, alive and restless, but lighter somehow. For the first time in days, I breathe without pain.
And as I walk toward the elevator, the sound of Jamie’s laughter follows me—sharp, bright, and real. It’s strange, I think, how redemption can come from the most broken people.
Stranger still that, after everything, I’m finally smiling.