Chapter 69 Kristen
I had never liked how quiet Phoenix got after midnight.
During the day, the campus was loud in a way that felt alive. Voices echoed between buildings. Doors slammed. Music leaked from dorm windows. Someone was always laughing too loudly or arguing too publicly. Even when things were tense, there was noise. Proof that people were still moving. Still existing.
At night, all of that vanished.
By twelve thirty, the walkways emptied. Lights dimmed automatically. Security systems hummed into full alert mode. The trees stopped rustling. Even the insects seemed to know better than to make themselves known.
It felt like the whole place was holding its breath.
And I was sneaking through it dressed like an idiot in black.
I stood pressed against the cold wall near the vending alcove in the lower east wing, my hoodie pulled low over my hair, my hands tucked into thin gloves that still felt too flimsy to protect me from anything. My backpack rested tight against my spine, every zipper secured, every pocket memorized.
My heart was already pounding, and we had not even started.
Anna stood a few yards away, pretending to scroll through her phone like she belonged there. She looked calm. Of course she did. She always looked calm when she was about to do something reckless.
I did not.
My stomach was in knots. My palms were sweating inside my gloves. Every tiny sound made my shoulders tense.
“You ready?” her voice whispered in my ear through the tiny comm link she had rigged for us.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I whispered back.
“Five minutes,” she said. “Maybe less if I’m charming.”
“You’re always charming,” I muttered.
She snorted softly and then peeled away from the wall, strolling toward the security lounge like she was heading to a late study session instead of committing a felony.
I stayed where I was, melting into shadow.
From my spot, I could see the glass front of the security office. Two guards sat inside. One leaned back in his chair with his boots on the desk. The other stared at a monitor, half-asleep.
They looked bored.
Good.
Anna tapped lightly on the glass.
One of the guards looked up, annoyed. He rolled his chair forward and cracked the door open.
“Yes?” he said.
“Excuse me,” Anna said brightly. “You’re Officer Matthews, right?”
He frowned. “How do you know my name?”
“Oh, everyone knows you,” she replied easily. “You’re kind of legendary. My roommate says you once caught three seniors sneaking into the pool after hours.”
That was a lie. Probably. But it worked.
He straightened a little. “Yeah, well. That was different.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “Sorry to bother you, but I just saw two guys climbing the fence near the north gate. I think they had a bottle. Or maybe a bat. It was dark.”
The second guard perked up. “North gate?”
“Yeah,” Anna nodded. “It looked sketchy.”
The first guard grabbed his flashlight. “You sure?”
“Pretty sure,” she said. “Also, can you check the vending machines? Mine ate my card again. I swear this place is haunted.”
The guards exchanged a look.
“People always complain about those machines,” the second muttered.
“Let’s check the gate first,” the first said.
They both stepped out.
The door shut behind them.
Anna waited exactly two seconds. Then she slipped inside.
My breath caught.
From my position, I watched her move fast, all business now. She crossed to the hallway camera mounted above the office door. Her fingers flew. A small wire came out of her pocket. A flick. A snap.
The camera light went dark.
“Go,” she whispered.
I did not hesitate.
I pushed off the wall and darted down the corridor, keeping close to the shadows. My sneakers barely made a sound on the polished floor. My pulse thundered in my ears.
Left turn. Then right. Then straight.
The system room sat at the far end, unmarked except for a small metal plaque that read: Authorized Personnel Only.
My heart hammered as I pulled out the copied access card Anna had procured from somewhere I did not want to know about.
I swiped.
Beep.
Green light.
The door slid open.
I slipped inside and pulled it shut behind me.
The room was cool and dry, filled with the low hum of servers stacked in tall black racks. Soft blue lights blinked rhythmically, like mechanical heartbeats. The smell of ozone and dust hung in the air.
I locked the door.
Then I moved.
I pulled out the roll of black electrical tape and slapped it over the webcam mounted above the main console. My hands shook slightly, but I forced them steady.
Sit.
Breathe.
Focus.
I dropped into the chair and opened my laptop.
Gloved fingers flew.
Anna had taught me the basics. How to route through dummy nodes. How to mask IP signatures. How to piggyback off administrative shells without triggering alarms.
It was not perfect.
It was risky.
But it was all we had.
Lines of code scrolled.
Firewalls fell.
Proxies layered.
Permissions spoofed.
My breath came shallow as the main registry loaded.
Phoenix Academy Central Database.
I clicked.
Student Records.
Search bar.
My fingers hovered for half a second.
Then I typed.
Lockwood, Kristen.
Enter.
The file loaded.
And my stomach dropped.
My picture stared back at me. The same bland ID photo I had taken freshman year. Neutral expression. Dead eyes. No personality.
Below it:
Name: Kristen Lockwood.
Power Classification: \[REDACTED\]
Lineage: \[REDACTED\]
History: \[REDACTED\]
Advisor: \[REDACTED\]
Sigil Class: \[REDACTED\]
Medical: \[REDACTED\]
Psychological: \[REDACTED\]
Everything was blacked out.
Everything.
No GPA.
No credits.
No attendance.
No transfer notes.
No legacy tags.
Nothing.
I scrolled.
More black.
More empty fields.
More redacted blocks.
It was like I did not exist.
“What the hell,” I whispered.
This was not a file.
It was a cover-up.
My chest tightened.
I clicked deeper. Administrative view. Audit trail. Access logs.
Locked.
Triple encrypted.
I tried another route.
Denied.
Another.
Denied.
My pulse spiked.
“Come on,” I murmured. “Come on, come on.”
I tried one last backdoor.
For a split second, something flickered.
A hidden subfolder.
My heart leaped.
I clicked.
The screen froze.
Processing.
Processing.
Processing.
“No,” I whispered.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I nearly screamed.
I yanked it out.
Anna: Dean Horowitz is coming. Get the hell out.
My blood turned to ice.
I slammed the escape key.
Closed windows.
Cleared cache.
Ran wipe script.
The system lagged.
Loading.
Loading.
“Move,” I hissed.
The logout wheel spun.
Slow.
Too slow.
I stood.
The door clicked.
Locked.
My breath hitched.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Heavy.
Measured.
Unhurried.
I knew that rhythm.
I had heard it outside his office. In faculty meetings. In corridors.
Dean Horowitz.
My hands went numb.
The screen finally cleared.
Logout complete.
But it was too late.
The footsteps were closer now.
Right outside.
I looked around desperately.
Server racks.
Cables.
Metal walls.
No closets.
No crawlspace.
No windows.
No hiding place.
The handle rattled once.
Testing.
My heart felt like it was trying to tear out of my chest.
I backed away from the desk slowly, every muscle locked.
My mind raced.
Lie.
Run.
Fight.
Cry.
None of it mattered.
The footsteps stopped.
Right outside the door.
I stared at it, frozen.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
And then I waited.