Page 127 of Fractured Devotion
It’s not Celeste. It’s not Reyes.
And it’s not mine.
“We’ve got a ghost user,” I say.
Reyes’ jaw tightens. “Someone was logging in under restricted access?”
“Worse. Someone with root override. Someone who’s not listed on the current staff directory.”
“That narrows it down.”
“No, it doesn’t.” I stare at the ID string. “This login hasn’t been used in almost a decade. It predates Miramont’s current structure.”
Reyes stiffens. “You think it’s an old developer?”
I shake my head. “I think it’s someone who never left.”
I pull the ghost user’s credentials into a sandbox environment, isolate the metadata, and start dissecting everytrace it left behind. There isn’t much. The user’s activity logs are fragmented, and some of the file timestamps have been deliberately blurred, as if someone knew how to corrupt the audit trail just enough to raise suspicion without offering clarity.
Reyes looks over my shoulder, the tension in his silence louder than any alarm.
“You think this account was used to manipulate Harper?” he finally asks.
I nod. “It lines up. The logins started just before Harper’s behavior changed, right when she got clingy and desperate.”
“And paranoid,” Reyes adds.
“She was talking to someone,” I say. “Someone feeding her these scripts, giving her access, and nudging her to test things she didn’t understand.”
He crosses his arms. “That means she wasn’t acting alone.”
“No. But I don’t think she knew the full picture either. Whoever it was, they used her. They gave her just enough to feel important. Then left her to spiral.”
Reyes mutters under his breath, “Classic grooming strategy.”
I lean back, staring at the ceiling. The weight of it settles in my chest like wet concrete.
“If we’re right, Harper might’ve been the canary.”
Reyes tilts his head. “You mean she didn’t crack the system. She warned us it was already cracked.”
“She was the first one to fracture under pressure. And now she’s dead.”
The silence stretches.
“What do we do?” Reyes asks, his voice low.
I look back at the ghost login, the half-buried script, and the tangled mess of Harper’s final digital footprint.
“We track it discreetly. No flags, no alerts. Whoever’s behind this is watching for movement, so we give them silence instead.”
“And Celeste?”
“She stays out of this until we know more. She’s already carrying too much.”
Reyes nods, reluctant but agreeing.
As he walks away to start the trace, I minimize the logs and stare at the blank desktop screen. My reflection glimmers faintly.
