THE SILENT FREQUENCY
The air in the back hallway was stagnant—a sharp contrast to the vibrating heat of the main room.
Kamsi sat on the floor in a dark alcove, her back against the wall, the tablet's glow painting her face in ghostly blue.
She wasn't just watching the network anymore. She was inside it.
The tablet pulsed. A surge of high-frequency data cut through the ghost traffic she had created.
Not random. Not student-level interference.
It was an encrypted local loop—a short-range communication burst.
"Found you," she whispered.
Kamsi didn't move, but her mind surged into the building's infrastructure. She slipped past the apartment router and into the CCTV hub.
With a few rapid commands, the screen split into sixteen grainy feeds. She scrolled past dancing bodies until she found them.
The men.
They moved like shadows. She zoomed in on one heading toward the hallway Clara had taken.
He adjusted something in his ear.
"Analog radio with a digital bridge," Kamsi murmured. "Old school. Secure. But not enough."
Her fingers blurred across the screen. She didn't just jam the signal—she hijacked it.
A sharp command, a flick of her thumb, and the man's earpiece went dead.
On-screen, he paused—then stumbled slightly, hand flying to his ear. Only static.
Kamsi didn't smile yet. She opened her messages.
Kamsi: Clara. EXIT. NOW. Someone is moving on you.
She waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Clara's phone lit up in her pocket, but she didn't see it.
She was lost in the music, laughing with Syndy, the sound swallowing the vibration entirely.
"Pick up the damn phone, Clara," Kamsi muttered.
Her attention snapped back to Massimo's feed.
The second man was closing in on the bar. Too close. His hand moved inside his jacket, not for a weapon. Something smaller.
A device. A camera? A trigger? A syringe?
Before he could act, a student stepped in. Clean. Precise.
He cut directly between Massimo and the man. Massimo looked up, startled.
The student leaned slightly, eyes flicking between the girl beside Massimo and him.
"Found someone else already?" he asked.
Massimo froze. For a rare moment, the Sterling heir didn't compute fast enough.
Kamsi let out a soft breath of laughter in the empty hallway.
"Smart kid," she murmured.
He wasn't an attacker. He was a shield. He had read the situation instantly—distraction, pressure, proximity and turned it into a social interruption the intruders couldn't safely override.
The second man stopped. Too close now. He hesitated, tapping his earpiece.
"Target is obstructed. Civilian interference. Awaiting instruction."
Kamsi's expression changed. Not amusement anymore. Control.
"Oh," she whispered. "You still want coordination?"
Her fingers returned to the keyboard. This time, she didn't block.
She entered. MAC address locked. Signal traced. Device mapped. She wasn't just inside the system anymore. She was inside the man.
His audio feed opened in her headset. Heavy breathing.
Then a voice:
"Maintain position. Wait for clearance."
Kamsi tilted her head slightly. A predator recognizing prey that had walked too close.
"My turn," she said softly.
She didn't speak into the line. Instead, she queued a payload: a high-decibel feedback loop—pure distortion, engineered to rupture audio reception on activation.
It sat dormant, waiting for his next transmission. She leaned back against the wall, eyes fixed on his feed.
"Go ahead," she whispered. "Press the button."
The Audit thought they were watching a party. They weren't.
They were standing inside Kamsi's network. And they hadn't realized yet—they were already compromised.