Ch.30: The Trap is Set

I turned, raising the stun baton. The arc of blue electricity crackled against the rain, a pathetic shield against a woman who killed for a living.

Kael stood ten feet away, her hands in the pockets of her long coat. She wasn't holding a weapon. She was just watching, her cybernetic eye glowing a soft, menacing red in the gloom.

"Get in the car, Rats," Julian ordered, his voice low and dangerous. He didn't look at the homeless man; his eyes were locked on Kael.

Rats scrambled into the backseat of the sedan, whimpering.

"You led us here," I said, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "The trail. The breadcrumbs. You wanted us to find him."

Kael didn't deny it. The rain plastered her red hair to her skull, making her look like a drowned flame.

"Sterling thinks you're dead," she said, her voice carrying effortlessly over the wind. "Or he hopes you are. He sent a clean-up crew to the prison tunnels. They found blood. They assumed it was yours."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because the clean-up crew is on its way here," she said. "You have three minutes."

She turned to walk away.

"Wait!" I shouted.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the burner phone. I opened the court filing app—the backchannel access I still had from my days as an auditor.

"I'm not running, Kael. I'm fighting."

I tapped the screen.

*Case 894-Delta. Motion to Compel Witness Testimony. Subpoena Ad Testificandum.*

*Target: Kaelen Voss.*

I hit send.

The notification pinged on Kael's wrist comm. She stopped. She looked down at the device, then back at me. A ghost of a smile touched her lips.

"You just subpoenaed a ghost, Harper. Good luck serving it."

"Consider yourself served," I said. "You're not a ghost anymore. You're a matter of public record. If you don't show, the P-Stock drops. If you do show... you can tell the truth about Chimera."

Kael stared at me. The red light in her eye pulsed.

"Three minutes," she repeated. Then she melted into the shadows of the alley.

"Drive," Julian said, shoving me toward the car.

I gunned the engine. The sedan fishtailed on the wet pavement, tires screaming as we tore out of the alley just as black SUVs turned the corner, their lights cutting through the darkness.

We drove in silence for ten minutes, putting distance between us and the kill squad. Rats was curled up in a ball in the back, muttering to himself.

"We need to go live," I said, handing the phone to Julian. "Now. Before they spin the narrative that we died in a prison riot."

Julian nodded. He patched the phone into the car's dashboard display, using the Cleaner's encryption protocols to mask our location.

"Calling Marcus Sterling," Julian said.

The line rang once. Then a video feed opened on the dash.

Sterling was in his office. He was wearing a tuxedo, likely fresh from the gala I had ruined. He held a crystal tumbler of scotch. He didn't look surprised. He looked bored.

"Ms. Vance," Sterling said, swirling his drink. "I was just drafting your eulogy. It was very moving."

"Save the ink," I said, keeping my eyes on the road. "I'm not dead. And I'm not done."

"You're a fugitive, Harper. You broke out of a supermax facility. You assaulted officers. You kidnapped a federal judge's... brother, was it?" He chuckled. "You have an active kill order on your head. The police are authorized to shoot on sight."

"I just filed a subpoena," I said. "For Kaelen Voss."

Sterling paused. He took a slow sip of scotch. Then he laughed. It was a rich, genuine laugh that chilled my blood.

"You subpoenaed my fixer? Harper, you poor, deluded girl. Kael doesn't exist. She has no social security number. No address. No fingerprints. You might as well subpoena the wind."

"She exists," I said. "And she was at the scene."

"Prove it," Sterling challenged. "You have no evidence. You have a corrupted drive you can't open and a fugitive client who is bleeding out in your passenger seat."

"I have a witness."

Sterling's smile faltered slightly. "A witness?"

"Someone who was in the alley," I said. "Someone who saw the van. Someone who saw the driver."

"There was no one in the alley," Sterling said, his voice hardening. "My team swept it."

"Your team missed the cardboard box behind the dumpster," Julian interjected, leaning into the frame. "Sloppy, Marcus. You're losing your touch."

Sterling glared at Julian. "Hello, Julian. Enjoying your freedom? It won't last the night."

"Show him," I told Julian.

Julian turned the phone camera toward the backseat.

Rats looked up, blinking in the harsh light of the screen. He looked terrified, dirty, and utterly authentic.

"Tell the man what you saw," Julian commanded gently.

"The Red Witch," Rats whispered, his voice trembling but audible. "With the scar. She drove the black van. She took the boy with the guitar."

Julian turned the camera back to Sterling.

"We have his sworn deposition," I lied. "Uploaded to the blockchain. If anything happens to us, or to him, it goes public. It links Kael to the murder. And since Kael is on your payroll—paid through Chimera Solutions—it links *you* to the murder."

Sterling set his glass down on the mahogany desk. The laughter was gone. His face was a mask of cold, calculating fury.

"You think you're clever," Sterling said quietly. "You think you've found a loose thread you can pull to unravel the tapestry."

"I'm not pulling a thread," I said. "I'm lighting a match."

"That man," Sterling pointed a finger at the screen, "is a vagrant. A junkie. His testimony is worthless. I will paint him as a delusional addict who would say anything for a hit. I will bury him under so much character assassination he'll wish he was back in the gutter."

"Try it," I said. "The public loves an underdog. And right now, the P-Stock says they hate you."

Sterling leaned forward, his face filling the screen. His eyes were dead, shark-like things.

"You think this is a game of stocks and shares, Harper? You think this is about public opinion?"

He reached for something off-camera.

"You have no idea what you've just unleashed."

He hit a button on his desk.

The feed cut to black.

Immediately, the streetlights ahead of us turned red. All of them.

A siren wailed. Not a police siren. A civil defense siren. The kind used for air raids.

"What did he do?" I asked, scanning the mirrors.

Julian looked at his phone. His face went pale.

"He didn't call the police," Julian said. "He activated the city's Containment Protocol."

"The what?"

"Martial law," Julian said. "He just locked down the entire district. No one in. No one out. And he just designated us as Level 1 Terrorists."

I looked ahead. Heavy steel barricades were rising from the pavement, blocking the intersection. Drones swarmed from the rooftops, their searchlights sweeping the street.

Sterling hadn't laughed it off. He had flipped the board.

"Hang on," I yelled, spinning the wheel.

I slammed the car over the curb, smashing through a bus stop, driving onto the sidewalk.

"Where are we going?" Julian shouted.

"The only place the drones can't see us," I said, aiming for the entrance of the old subterranean aqueduct.

Sterling stopped laughing. You have no idea what you've just unleashed.