Chapter 22
Ember
The chat thread explodes so fast I can barely keep up. Phoenix’s words come clipped, urgent:
They’re scrubbing faster. Whole archives gone in minutes. Not just old files—current chatter, live streams, kids’ accounts.
GhostNode replies immediately:
I traced one deletion chain. It originated from an internal server still active. That means Radley’s not dead yet—they’re live, running ops.
My stomach knots.
Compass14:
Then there are still subjects.
N1ghtingale:
Children. Like we were.
The words hit like a blow. My hands hover over the keyboard, trembling. Innocent kids going through all of that right now, this very moment.
Luke swears under his breath. “They’re not just covering tracks, they’re cleaning house.”
Phoenix sends another message:
If they know we’re collecting, they’ll come for us next. But the deletions aren’t random. They’re targeting specific dates, specific profiles. I think… I think they’re erasing evidence of active sites.
The cursor blinks.
Phoenix again:
Which means kids are still in those sites. Right now.
The room tilts, my throat closes. “I can’t believe that’s still happening. Why hasn’t anyone stopped it?”
Luke squeezes my hand, gaze locked on the screen. “I have no idea, but it’s exactly what we’ve been circling. They never stopped. They just go to greater lengths to hide it.”
GhostNode:
We need to move fast. I can hold a few deletions, but the server’s aggressive—automated wipes every fifteen minutes. If we don’t mirror now, entire pieces vanish forever.
Phoenix:
They know we’re here. The others—
The message cuts off.
Another line appears, jagged, unfinished.
They’re onto—
And then nothing.
Silence.
The chat room hangs, each username still lit but no one typing. The empty space feels like a held breath before the crash of something we can’t outrun.
Luke’s voice is barely a whisper. “If they’re on to Phoenix, then they’re on to all of us.”
I can’t stop staring at the screen, waiting for the next line.
But it doesn’t come.
“Don’t freeze.” Luke’s fingers blur across the keys, firing up the backup systems we set after Phoenix’s first warning. “We’ve got fifteen minutes, maybe less, before the server clears everything Ghost held.”
I snap back into motion, routing the mirror chains through the secondary accounts. The screen fills with strings of code and filenames, like lifeboats being thrown into the water.
GhostNode’s message bursts onto the thread:
Holding four directories—medical, intake logs, financial ledgers, and one labeled “Project E.” Need redundancy NOW.
“I’ll do intake,” I mutter, downloading chunks into encrypted slices. My throat’s so dry I can barely breathe. “Luke, grab financials. They’ll tie to the grants we found.”
“On it.”
The progress bars crawl like molasses. Every second feels like a countdown to obliteration.
Compass14:
Focus. Don’t argue. Save what you can.
N1ghtingale:
If Phoenix is gone—
The words choke me. I cut in:
Don’t say it. He’s not gone. He can’t be.
Luke’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t contradict me.
The last bar flashes green. We’ve saved what we can.
GhostNode confirms with a single line:
Mirrored. Fragmented. Hidden.
Then the directory names vanish from the live server list. Deleted as if they had never existed.
A hollow ache opens in my chest. “We got them, right? We saved them.”
Luke nods, though his expression is grim. “Some of them. Enough to prove something real. But not enough to stop this alone.”
I look at Phoenix’s still-lit username, cursor frozen. He hasn’t logged back in.
“What if they found him?” My voice cracks on the question.
Luke reaches over, gripping my hand tight. “Then we make sure his work doesn’t vanish with him. That’s the only way to honor him.”
A lump forms in my throat. I want to believe him. But staring at the cursor beside Phoenix’s name, I can’t shake the feeling that the stage lights just went dark on one of our only allies.
The chat window is too quiet, like a room where everyone’s holding their breath. I hate that Phoenix’s username still glows, but there’s no sign of him.
Luke leans back, running both hands through his hair. “If Phoenix is compromised, then Ghost, Compass, and Nightingale could be next. Us too. We need to decide now—do we stay in this, or do we walk away? And do we want to bring in your dad?”
The question lands like a stone in my stomach. “My dad?”
“He’s a cop.”
My mind swirls with all the possibilities. We could walk away and pretend none of this is happening. Leave the kids who are still down there, the survivors who’ve already risked everything. Leave Phoenix.
But what about Billa, Kenzi? Or Fenna? She could be next. They might just be waiting for her to be old enough to start the experiments. The fact that they tried to run her off the road makes it clear now they have their eyes on her.
“We don’t walk away,” I say, my voice steady even as my hands shake. “We go deeper. With them. All the way. No matter the cost. And we leave my dad out of it. Let him keep protecting Fenna.”
Luke studies me, his mouth forming a frown. Then he nods once, firm. “Then we commit. We work with the network, we build the release, and we accept what comes. But we need to consider bringing him in. He knows things we don’t.”
I don’t like the idea, but I not anyway.
GhostNode:
I’m in.
Compass14:
Together or not at all.
N1ghtingale:
For the kids who don’t have voices yet.
Luke types a reply:
For Phoenix, for the kids, for all the victims.
Now I feel clarity. Terror, yes. But also a logical mind.
That’s when it happens.
A new message appears under Phoenix’s username:
The performance isn’t over. Watch the wings.
No greeting. No context.
Luke stiffens. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
I stare at the words until the screen blurs. Performance, wings. The language of the theater—the language of the programming.
The cursor blinks, waiting for a reply.
But I can’t type.
Because I don’t know if Phoenix is warning us… or if someone else is already pulling his strings.
Luke gives me a knowing look. He wants to bring my dad in.
My dad will make me walk away.
I can’t do that. I’m in too deep.