Chapter 5 - The phantom in the nursery
With Vance dead and the police writing it off as a home invasion gone wrong, Scarlett realized the authorities were useless against an enemy that controlled the digital infrastructure of the city. She had to secure physical proof of the device inside the brace, and she had to do it before Lily liquidated the entire defense company and eliminated her father to cover her tracks. A torrential thunderstorm provided the cover Scarlett needed. She knew the archaic, secondary access codes to the service gates of Adrian’s sprawling Connecticut estate, codes he had shared with her during the early, romantic days of their relationship. She slipped through the rain-lashed gardens, bypassing the primary security cameras that she prayed were temporarily blinded by the storm. She entered through the cellar, moving like a shadow up the servant stairwell toward the nursery wing. The sprawling house was suffocatingly quiet, the silence broken only by the rhythmic drumming of rain against the heavy glass windows. Scarlett crept toward Lily’s bedroom, the door left slightly ajar to let in the warm glow of a nightlight. Scarlett peered through the crack, her breath catching in her throat. The scene inside was a terrifying subversion of childhood innocence. Lily was sitting cross-legged on the plush white carpet. Her beautiful ivory satin dress was discarded on the bed. The orthopedic leg brace lay fully detached on the floor beside her. Lily’s leg, supposedly shattered and weak, was perfectly fine. She moved it with effortless, athletic grace. The angelic child held a small, specialized titanium screwdriver, dismantling the silver clasps of the brace with the speed and precision of a seasoned engineer. Inside the hollowed-out carbon fiber shell was a glowing, complex matrix of quantum processors and a microscopic satellite uplink. Lily connected a tiny, braided cable from the brace directly into a specialized tablet. Scarlett watched in horror as lines of classified military code scrolled across the screen, reflecting in the child’s cold, blue eyes. Lily was not a pawn; she was the architect. As Scarlett shifted her weight, the floorboard beneath her foot let out a microscopic creak. Lily’s hands stopped moving. She did not look frightened. She did not scream for her father. She slowly turned her head, looking directly at the crack in the door where Scarlett was hiding. A chilling, perfectly calm smile spread across her angelic face. I see you, Scarlett, the seven-year-old whispered, her voice devoid of any childlike inflection, sounding ancient and utterly ruthless.
