Chapter 26
Waiting has never been my strong suit.
Two days after our trap launched, I find myself alone in the war room with Sebastian while Milo and Jade take a break.
I’ve spent the past hour watching digital breadcrumbs appear and vanish across the city grid, each ping a potential sighting of Travis.
The leather chair creaks as I shift my weight, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the armrest.
A soft chime breaks the monotony, and Sebastian’s fingers fly across the keyboard, accepting the incoming call.
Saint’s easy drawl fills the room, tinny through the speakers. “South side’s a bust.” In the background, car horns blare, sirens wail in the distance, and voices shout profanities. “But I’ve been spreading the message.”
My spine straightens at the familiar tone. To anyone else, Saint might sound bored or indifferent, but the casual inflection masks the predatory focus that once kept us both alive in the group home, when bigger kids thought we’d be easy targets.
“Define ‘spreading the message,’” Sebastian responds, his eyes never leaving the map display where Saint’s location pulses as a red dot in the industrial district.
“Hit two of his crash pads. Neither had seen him in days, but they’ll spread the word.” Something metallic clinks against the phone on Saint’s end. “Made it real clear that anyone thinking about helping Travis out should reconsider their life choices.”
I wince, picturing what that “clarity” entailed. Saint’s knuckles often came back bruised when we were younger, though he’d always tell me the other guy looked worse.
“Any positive leads?” Sebastian asks as he updates notes on a secondary screen.
“Nothing solid.” Saint pauses, and I can picture him scanning his surroundings, always alert. “But people are talking. Word travels fast when the right pressure gets applied. Found his old roommate at the mail center. Guy couldn’t spill information fast enough once I explained the situation.”
“Did you need to get physical?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Saint’s laugh crackles through the speaker. “With that guy? Nah. Just stood in his personal space and mentioned how I felt about people who protect stalkers. His supervisor might need a change of pants, though.”
The casual way he discusses intimidation sends a familiar shiver through me. This is the side of Saint that came out the day he stepped between me and our House Manager, dangerous and willing to cross the line.
“Keep us updated,” Sebastian directs, already typing notes into the system.
“Will do. Gabriel’s checking the north end. Pretty boy’s actually not bad at this.” The hint of grudging respect in his voice surprises me.
As if summoned by the mention, a second line buzzes through. Sebastian accepts the call, and Gabriel’s measured breathing fills the room. No background noise, no traffic, no people, just the quiet click of a door closing.
“North side has been canvassed,” Gabriel reports. “No direct sightings of our target, but I’ve visited his former workplace and three associates’ residences.”
The contrast between their reporting styles strikes me. Where Saint broadcasts chaos and violence, Gabriel’s control fills the spaces between his words with equal menace.
“Results?” Sebastian prompts.
“Effective.” Gabriel’s satisfaction travels through the connection. “I didn’t need to threaten anyone. Just stood in their space, watched them, and let them fill the silence with their own fears.”
I can picture Gabriel with his confident posture and cold eyes, saying nothing while people nervously babble all their secrets.
“By the third house, they were waiting for me,” Gabriel continues. “Word had traveled. The man’s sister tried to give me his old laptop as a peace offering. I accepted it, of course.”
“Smart,” Sebastian mutters, typing away. “Bring it back. Micah can extract any data.”
The casual way Sebastian volunteers my skills warms me. He believes in my abilities without question, integrating me into their operations as if I belong here. Hacking has always been something I did in secret, and Saint never understood enough about it to be a true partner.
I had my job, and he had his. Never the two sides crossing. But this is a true collaboration of the mind.
“The message is clear across the city now,” Gabriel concludes. “Travis is toxic. No shelter, no help, no second chances.”
In less than a day, the Rockfords have turned Travis from a predator to prey. The man who once watched me through hidden cameras now finds himself hunted, his support network systematically dismantled by people who’ve elevated intimidation to an art form.
“Good work,” Sebastian says. “Both of you, head back. We’ll reconvene when you arrive.”
The calls disconnect with twin beeps, leaving the war room in humming silence once more. On screen, the red dots representing Saint and Gabriel begin moving toward the manor.
Sebastian swivels his chair to face me. “You’re quiet.”
I trace a finger along the edge of the keyboard as I gather my thoughts. “It’s just… seeing it all coordinated like this. Hearing them work together.”
“Does it bother you?” Sebastian’s scarred face remains neutral, but his attention stays fixed on me.
“Not exactly.” I pick at the spacebar key. “What bothers me is how it doesn’t bother me more. A week ago, I would have been horrified by all this. Now, I’m just sitting around, waiting for results.”
Sebastian’s hand covers mine. “That’s not callousness, Micah. It’s adaptation.”
Maybe he’s right. The Rockfords aren’t developing new methods. They’re perfecting what Saint and I did on a smaller scale with resources and coordination we could never dream of.
The line between justice and vengeance blurs further with each passing hour, and I find myself caring less about the distinction as long as Travis can never hurt anyone again.
“He’ll surface soon. People in his situation always do.” Sebastian stands. “I’ll get you some tea.”
His confidence leaves no room for doubt. Travis is already caught. He just doesn’t realize it yet.
An alert fills the room, and I find the screen with Travis’s banking app. The server pings once, twice, three times, each attempt meeting the same cold response.
Account temporarily suspended.
Satisfaction courses through me, heady in its intensity.
“He’s trying to access his utility accounts now,” I murmur, though Sebastian is still gone.
Travis’s digital fingerprints appear across the monitors like distress signals.
Each new attempt to access his vanishing life creates another ping on our tracking system.
The electricity company website. His cell phone provider.
His credit card portal. One by one, they flash red as access is denied.
A notification pops up on the main screen. Automated rent payment: Failed.
That particular one feeds my vindictiveness, since I received a similar one this morning when The Solace tried to pull my monthly rent from an account already in the negative from lack of camming.
Behind that simple message lies a cascade of consequences that will unfold over the coming days. A missed rent payment becomes a late fee, becomes an eviction notice, becomes homelessness. All executed with the clinical precision of code I helped write.
“Got you,” I whisper, watching as his phone signal bounces between cell towers in increasing desperation.
Three text messages are sent to disconnected numbers. Five calls that never go through.
The war room feels too warm and too cold at the same time, the temperature perfect, but my body unable to regulate itself as adrenaline spikes through my system. Sweat beads at my temples while my fingers remain ice cold on the keys.
This is what he deserves.
The mantra repeats in my head as I track his movements across the city. He violated my home. Watched me in my most private moments. Threatened my sense of safety.
This is justice, not cruelty.
So why does my stomach knot as his phone service cuts out mid-call? Why does my pulse quicken when his credit card is declined at a gas station?
I tell myself it’s satisfaction, but the tremor in my hands suggests otherwise.
This isn’t the quick, blunt vengeance of Saint’s fists or the public shame of exposure I usually orchestrate.
This is a slow, methodical dismantling, the difference between crushing an ant underfoot versus pulling its legs off one by one.
The trap is baited with his desperation, each failure to access his life pushing him closer to the one vulnerability we’ve left open. The fake employee portal that will reveal his location the moment he logs in.
My throat tightens. “Come on. Take the bait.”
A hand settles on my shoulder, and I jolt in my seat, nerves frayed from hours of focused hunting.
“Easy.” Sebastian leans past me to set a closed container of tea on the desk. “It’s just me.”
The warmth of his pheromones curls around me, soothing my fraying nerves. I hadn’t heard him enter, too absorbed in watching Travis’s digital destruction.
“He’s realized he’s locked out of all of his accounts,” I report, a slight tremor in my voice. “His phone service just cut out, so he’ll head to a free, public service area to figure out what’s happening. The library is the most likely location.”
Sebastian leans forward, his chest a solid presence at my back as he studies the screens. “Good. We’ll have him within the hour.”
“I’ve already got a script running. It will trigger as soon as he logs in.” My fingers tap the edge of the keyboard, not quite touching the keys. “The fake portal is ready.”
“Perfect.” Sebastian squeezes my shoulder in approval. “You’ve done excellent work today.”
The praise should warm me, but a chill runs along my spine instead. Today, excellence means dismantling a life, however deserved that ruin might be.
Sebastian comes around to crouch beside my chair, bringing his scarred face level with mine, and his hazel eyes search my expression. “Are you still okay with this?”