Page 99 of Taken Off Camera
“Not exactly.” I pick at the spacebar key. “What bothers me is how it doesn’t bother me more. A week ago, I would have been horrified by all this. Now, I’m just sitting around, waiting for results.”
Sebastian’s hand covers mine. “That’s not callousness, Micah. It’s adaptation.”
Maybe he’s right. The Rockfords aren’t developing new methods. They’re perfecting what Saint and I did on a smaller scale with resources and coordination we could never dream of.
The line between justice and vengeance blurs further with each passing hour, and I find myself caring less about the distinction as long as Travis can never hurt anyone again.
“He’ll surface soon. People in his situation always do.” Sebastian stands. “I’ll get you some tea.”
His confidence leaves no room for doubt. Travis is already caught. He just doesn’t realize it yet.
An alert fills the room, and I find the screen with Travis’s banking app. The server pings once, twice, three times, each attempt meeting the same cold response.
Account temporarily suspended.
Satisfaction courses through me, heady in its intensity.
“He’s trying to access his utility accounts now,” I murmur, though Sebastian is still gone.
Travis’s digital fingerprints appear across the monitors like distress signals. Each new attempt to access his vanishing life creates another ping on our tracking system. The electricity company website. His cell phone provider. His credit card portal. One by one, they flash red as access is denied.
A notification pops up on the main screen. Automated rent payment: Failed.
That particular one feeds my vindictiveness, since I received a similar one this morning when The Solace tried to pull my monthly rent from an account already in the negative from lack of camming.
Behind that simple message lies a cascade of consequences that will unfold over the coming days. A missed rent payment becomes a late fee, becomes an eviction notice, becomes homelessness. All executed with the clinical precision of code I helped write.
“Got you,” I whisper, watching as his phone signal bounces between cell towers in increasing desperation.
Three text messages are sent to disconnected numbers. Five calls that never go through.
The war room feels too warm and too cold at the same time, the temperature perfect, but my body unable to regulate itself as adrenaline spikes through my system. Sweat beads at my temples while my fingers remain ice cold on the keys.
This is what he deserves.
The mantra repeats in my head as I track his movements across the city. He violated my home. Watched me in my most private moments. Threatened my sense of safety.
This is justice, not cruelty.
So why does my stomach knot as his phone service cuts out mid-call? Why does my pulse quicken when his credit card is declined at a gas station?
I tell myself it’s satisfaction, but the tremor in my hands suggests otherwise. This isn’t the quick, blunt vengeance of Saint’s fists or the public shame of exposure I usually orchestrate. This is a slow, methodical dismantling, the difference between crushing an ant underfoot versus pulling its legs off one by one.
The trap is baited with his desperation, each failure to access his life pushing him closer to the one vulnerability we’ve left open. The fake employeeportal that will reveal his location the moment he logs in.
My throat tightens. “Come on. Take the bait.”
A hand settles on my shoulder, and I jolt in my seat, nerves frayed from hours of focused hunting.
“Easy.” Sebastian leans past me to set a closed container of tea on the desk. “It’s just me.”
The warmth of his pheromones curls around me, soothing my fraying nerves. I hadn’t heard him enter, too absorbed in watching Travis’s digital destruction.
“He’s realized he’s locked out of all of his accounts,” I report, a slight tremor in my voice. “His phone service just cut out, so he’ll head to a free, public service area to figure out what’s happening. The library is the most likely location.”
Sebastian leans forward, his chest a solid presence at my back as he studies the screens. “Good. We’ll have him within the hour.”
“I’ve already got a script running. It will trigger as soon as he logs in.” My fingers tap the edge of the keyboard, not quite touching the keys. “The fake portal is ready.”
