Chapter 24 The Harvest Interrupted – Luna
The academy glows like a nightmare wrapped in silk.
I watch from the treeline as helicopters descend onto the landing pad, their rotors whipping the evening air.
Boats dock at the main pier, disgorging passengers in evening gowns and tuxedos.
Everyone wears masks. Venetian, ornate, glittering with jewels that probably cost more than most people’s houses.
“Sponsors,” Belle mutters beside me, her voice dripping with contempt. “That’s what Selena calls them to the regular students. Influential donors coming to celebrate the academy’s success.”
“More like coming to shop for fresh victims.” My hands ball into fists. Somewhere in that building, Erik might be trapped. Hurt. Or worse.
The thought that he might already be dead claws at my chest. I push it down. Can’t think about that. Can’t let myself break until this is over.
Agent Smith’s voice crackles through our earpieces. “All teams, status check.”
“Team Alpha in position.” That’s David, leading the main assault through the front gates.
“Team Bravo ready.” Another agent, approaching from the north shore.
“Team Charlie standing by.” Belle’s assigned handler, Agent Magro, speaks quietly from behind us.
We’re dressed to blend in as staff. I’m in a simple black dress with a white apron. Belle is in similar attire, a small camera disguised as a brooch on her collar. Max is in a server’s uniform, his dark hair slicked back, looking like he belongs among the catering crew.
Each of us wears a mask. Mine is simple black lace. Belle’s is plain silver. Max’s is basic venetian style. Nothing elaborate. Nothing that would draw attention from the sponsors.
“Remember the plan,” Agent Magro says. “You go in quiet. Blend with the staff. Gather intelligence and identify targets. When the raid begins, you three get to safety immediately. No heroics.”
“Right.” Belle’s tone suggests she has no intention of following that last part.
Neither do I.
The kitchen is chaos. Real staff rushing to prepare hors d’oeuvres, servers grabbing trays, managers barking orders. We slip in through the service entrance, grab supplies, and blend seamlessly into the flow.
No one questions us. No one even looks twice.
We emerge into the main hall through different doors.
The transformation is complete. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light across polished marble floors.
Tables draped in white linen hold elaborate floral arrangements and champagne fountains.
A string quartet plays in the corner, the music beautiful and haunting.
And everywhere, students. Dressed in formal wear, circulating through the crowd with forced smiles. Each wearing a small numbered tag pinned to their clothing. Some I recognize from classes. Others I’ve never seen, their eyes glazed and distant like they’ve been drugged.
The sponsors move among them with slim leather catalogs in their hands. They stop students, check their tag numbers, consult the catalogs. Making notes. Comparing options.
Shopping.
I pick up a tray of champagne glasses and move through the crowd. My staff uniform, which includes a mask, makes me invisible. The sponsors don’t even glance at me as I pass. Their attention is fixed entirely on the students.
A man in an expensive suit stops a girl I recognize from my psychology class. She’s wearing tag 203. He checks his catalog, reading something, then nods with satisfaction.
“Subject 203,” he says. “Computer science. High IQ. Minimal family connections.” He makes a note in his catalog. “You’ll do nicely for the position in Silicon Valley.”
The girl’s smile is brittle. Terrified. “Thank you, sir.”
He moves on without another word. She stands there shaking, tears threatening behind her mask.
I want to grab her and run. Want to scream that help is coming. But that would blow everything.
Belle is across the room, offering champagne to a group of sponsors. Her camera brooch is angled perfectly to capture their faces as they flip through catalogs, discussing which students they’re interested in.
I catch fragments of conversation as I move through the crowd.
“Subject 167 has excellent ratings for intelligence work…”
“Subject 145 would be perfect for the financial sector…”
“Subject 198’s psychological profile suggests he’d excel at social engineering…”
They’re discussing children like investment opportunities.
Max positions himself near the bar, refilling glasses, his eyes constantly scanning. Cataloging faces. Memorizing details.
A woman in a designer gown stops him. “More champagne.” Not a request. A command.
Max fills her glass without a word. She doesn’t even look at him. Just turns back to examining a student wearing tag 156, comparing the boy to whatever description is in her catalog.
More sponsors arrive. The crowd thickens. We move among them like ghosts. Invisible. Ignored. Gathering evidence with every face Belle’s camera captures.
Senator Langston is here. I recognize him from the contracts Erik filmed. He’s deep in conversation with Judge Harrington, both consulting their catalogs.
“I’m interested in Subject 169,” Langston says. “Previous intelligence experience. Already trained. Could be useful in Washington.”
Subject 169. That’s Belle’s old number from when she was cataloged.
But Belle isn’t wearing a tag. She’s dressed as staff. Moving through the crowd unnoticed behind her mask.
Unless Selena realizes she’s here.
Selena appears at the top of the grand staircase, and the room falls silent.
She’s wearing a floor-length gown the color of blood, her silver hair swept up elegantly. No mask. She doesn’t need one. This is her kingdom, and she rules it absolutely.
“Welcome,” she says, her voice carrying effortlessly across the space. “Welcome to The Harvest.”
Polite applause. Champagne glasses raised in toast.
“Tonight, we celebrate not just achievement, but potential.” Selena descends the stairs slowly, commanding every eye in the room. “The young people you see before you represent the future. Bright. Talented. Ready to be shaped into whatever role best serves our collective interests.”
I force myself to keep moving. To offer champagne to sponsors. To play my role.
“As always, our selection process has been rigorous,” Selena continues.
She’s reached the main floor now, moving through the crowd like a queen among her subjects.
“Each student has been carefully evaluated. Their skills catalogued. Their weaknesses identified and addressed. They are, in every sense, ready for placement.”
Placement. Such a clinical word for trafficking.
“This year’s offerings are particularly exceptional.” Selena gestures, and several students step forward.
“Subject 198, for example, shows remarkable aptitude for psychology and manipulation.” The guy stands perfectly still as sponsors examine him, checking their catalogs. “He’s been trained extensively and would suit positions requiring intelligence gathering or social engineering.”
The crowd murmurs appreciatively. Senator Morrison is making notes in his catalog. Literally taking notes on which children he wants to buy.
Belle moves closer to the stage, her camera capturing everything. The students. The sponsors. The catalogs. All the evidence we need.
“Of course, we also have more experienced operatives available.” Selena’s gaze sweeps the room. “Students who’ve already proven their worth in various capacities. For those seeking more advanced placements.”
My earpiece crackles. David’s voice, barely audible. “Three minutes. Get ready.”
Three minutes until federal agents storm this place. Three minutes until everything erupts into chaos.
I use the time to search the crowd one more time. Looking for any sign of Erik. His pale blond hair. His tall frame. Those gray eyes.
Nothing.
He’s not here. He’s not anywhere among the students.
The realization hits like a physical blow. If Erik were alive, if he were being held somewhere, Selena would have brought him out. Would have used him as an example. Would have presented him as a cautionary tale.
His absence means one of two things. He’s dead, or he’s too damaged to be displayed.
Both options make me want to collapse.
“And now,” Selena says, her voice taking on a ceremonial quality, “we begin the placement process. Sponsors, you have your catalogs. You’ve had time to evaluate our offerings. Let us commence with the bidding.”
A girl no older than sixteen steps forward onto a small raised platform. Tag 145 pinned to her emerald dress. She stands there as Selena reads her specifications.
“Subject 145. Mathematics prodigy. Excellent with data analysis and financial systems. Minimal resistance to conditioning. Opening bid.”
Hands raise. Numbers called out. They’re actually bidding. Actually auctioning her off right here in front of everyone.
The girl’s face is blank. Empty. She’s been drugged into compliance.
My hand moves to my earpiece. “David, we need to move now. They’re starting the auction.”
“Sixty seconds,” he responds.
Sixty seconds while children are sold.
Another student is called forward. Subject 198. He walks to the platform like he’s walking to his execution.
Selena begins reading his specifications. His skills. His training. His suitability for various roles.
Sponsors raise their hands. The bidding starts.
I’m moving before I realize it. Dropping my tray. Heading for the platform. Belle catches my arm, her grip bruising.
“Don’t,” she hisses. “Thirty seconds. Hold on.”
I force myself to stop. To breathe. To wait.
Twenty seconds.
More bids. Higher numbers. Subject 198 stands there taking it. Being sold to the highest bidder.
Selena’s gaze sweeps the room and lands on me. On Belle. On Max.
Her expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in her pale eyes.
Recognition.
“Security,” she says quietly into a microphone clipped to her dress. “We have infiltrators. Staff near the south entrance. Detain them.”
Ten seconds.
Guards start moving through the crowd toward us. Belle shoves me toward the nearest exit. Max appears beside us, his server uniform abandoned.
“Move!” he shouts.
Five seconds.
The windows explode.
Glass rains down as tactical teams rappel through from above. Doors burst open. Federal agents flood the room from every entrance, weapons raised, voices shouting commands.
“FBI! Nobody move!”
Chaos erupts instantly.
Network members scatter. Their masks fall away as they run for exits. Students scream. Some dive for cover. Others freeze in terror. Security forces draw weapons but find themselves vastly outnumbered.
Belle rips off her mask, pulling me through the crowd. Max is ahead, clearing a path through the chaos.
Around us, agents are tackling network members, wrestling them to the ground, shouting for compliance. Some guests surrender immediately. Others try to run, only to be caught by agents stationed at every exit.
Senator Langston goes down hard, three agents on top of him. Judge Harrington tries to flee and gets tased. Network members everywhere are being subdued, their catalogs scattered across the floor.
“David’s team has the main hall secure!” Max shouts over the noise. “They’re sweeping the building now!”
“Erik?” The question tears out of me. “Have they found him?”
Max’s expression tells me everything before he speaks. “Luna—”
“Have they found him?”
“There’s a body.” His voice is gentle. Terrible. “In Selena’s private quarters. They haven’t confirmed identity yet, but—”
The world tilts. My legs give out. Belle catches me before I hit the ground.
“No.” The word comes out broken. “No, it can’t be.”
“We don’t know for sure,” Belle says, but her voice is hollow. “They haven’t confirmed.”
“It’s him.” I know it with terrible certainty. “She killed him. She killed him, and now she’s destroying the evidence.”
An explosion rocks the building. Fire blooms from the East Wing, orange flames licking up toward the night sky.
“What the hell was that?” Max demands.
David’s voice comes through our earpieces, strained and urgent. “Selena triggered incendiary devices in her private quarters. She’s destroying evidence. All teams converge on the administrative building. Now.”
“The body,” I gasp. “David, there’s a body in there.”
“Fire teams are responding.” David’s voice is tight. “But the flames are spreading fast. We might not be able to recover—”
Another explosion. This one larger. The administrative building’s upper floors collapse, fire spreading rapidly.
Around us, students are being evacuated. Network members dragged away in restraints. The Harvest has been interrupted. The network exposed. Everything we fought for is happening.
But Erik is dead. His body burning in Selena’s quarters while she escapes in the chaos.
Belle’s arms are around me. Max is saying something about getting to safety. Agents are shouting orders. Students are crying, some in relief, others in shock.
But all I can see is fire. All I can hear is that gunshot from the live stream. All I can feel is the crushing weight of loss.
Erik is dead.
And Selena Harpsons, The Architect, is disappearing in flames and smoke.
The Harvest is over. The network exposed. Justice served.
But the price was everything.