85

Asher

The footage scrolls in reverse. I stop it periodically, staring so hard at the screen that my vision blurs. Camila peers over my shoulder while the man in front of me, tapping his computer keyboard, hunches ever closer to the screen.

Nothing ... Nothing ... Come on ...

“Asher, what is all this?” she asks.

After leaving the in-progress dance studio, I didn’t say much about what she sparked in me. I was busy formulating the plan while my excitement grew higher and higher. It’s a miracle we didn’t get stopped for speeding.

I rushed into the mansion, cornering the short, bearded man who often reminds me of a Schnauzer dog: Matvey, the tech guy who’s in charge of all my networks. I texted him while driving back. Now, he’s bent over his double monitors while I lean in close enough to smell his shampoo.

“Asher,” Camila prods again. “Talk to me.”

“When you mentioned the security camera, I remembered the ones Mila and I shot outside the Winter Palace.” I tap Matvey on the shoulder. “Slow