Chapter 4 - The Frequency
"Stop right there, Vance," Marco’s voice rang out from the upper landing, his assault rifle leveled squarely at the center of Vance’s chest.
Vance didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his hands. He simply turned his head slightly toward the landing, his thin smile remaining fixed on his lips.
"Marco, my good man," Vance purred, looking entirely unbothered by the barrel of a high-powered rifle pointed at his heart. "You really think a few armed guards and an iron gate are going to stop what’s already in motion? The frequency is already broadcasting."
I froze. "What frequency?"
"The one your little houseguest has been tuning into since she walked into that nursery," Vance said calmly. "You thought the babies were screaming because of colic or teething? Oh, Adrien. They weren't in pain. They were reacting to the resonance wave. Sophie’s voice acts like an open-band radio transmitter. And tonight, she accidentally dialed a very specific, very dangerous frequency that your enemies have been trying to track for twelve years."
A cold sweat broke out across my back. I thought back to the nursery—how the triplets had screamed in unison, how Sophie had walked in and silenced them with a hum, and how she had whispered, 'The metal boxes outside are sleeping.'
She wasn't talking about electronics. She was talking about something else entirely.
"Lies," I said, descending the final steps and closing the distance between us until I was standing inches from Vance, looking down into his mocking eyes. "You're trying to distract me while your backup moves in."
"My backup?" Vance laughed softly, a dry, humorless sound. "Adrien, I don't need backup. Look at your estate security tablet."
From the landing, Marco’s phone buzzed violently. The security chief glanced down at his screen, his face turning the color of chalk.
"Boss," Marco called out, his voice shaking. "All exterior perimeter feeds... they're not just jammed. They're looping. We’re watching footage from three hours ago. Someone is already inside the main floor."
Before I could turn around, the heavy oak doors of the master study behind the foyer swung open with a slow, ominous creak.
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A figure stepped out of the shadows, flanked by two armed mercenaries wearing unmarked tactical gear—and holding a small, trembling Elena by the arm, a suppressed pistol pressed against her temple.
And standing directly beside them, looking up with wide, innocent blue eyes in her yellow lace dress, was Sophie.
