Chapter 191: 191 Unexpected Visitors

Settings

Font Size

A

A

16px

Font Family

Background Color

191: Unexpected Visitors 191: Unexpected Visitors The VoltCore lobby felt different with federal agents inside—sterile fluorescent lighting replaced the warm ambiance Mishka was used to.

Two men in identical dark suits flanked the elevator, their posture screaming law enforcement despite their attempts to blend in.

One nodded curtly as Bruce and Mishka approached, his eyes lingering on Mishka’s face with uncomfortable recognition.

“Ms.

Classens?

Agent Richardson, Department of Unusual Phenomena.

We’d like to speak with you.”

Mishka’s pendant pulsed against her throat, warm but not burning.

“About what?”

“Your colleague, Ms.

Torres, has brought some interesting data to our attention.

Electromagnetic anomalies centered around this area.” Richardson’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“We understand you’ve been…

involved in some local cultural activities that might explain these readings.”

Bruce stepped slightly closer to Mishka, his protective instincts barely contained beneath his polished exterior.

“Are we under arrest, Agent Richardson?”

“Not at all.

We’re hoping for cooperation.

Ms.

Torres has been very helpful in explaining her sensor data.” Richardson gestured toward the elevator.

“If you’d join us upstairs?”

The ride to the third floor felt endless.

Mishka caught Bruce’s reflection in the polished steel doors—his jaw was tight, and she could practically feel the tension radiating from him.

Whatever Sarah had stumbled into, it was bigger than weekend anomaly research.

The conference room was exactly as Mishka had seen it from the parking lot.

Sarah sat across from another agent, her laptop open, multiple screens displaying familiar-looking energy signature graphs.

Her face showed relief when Mishka and Bruce entered, but her eyes held a warning.

“These are my friends I was telling you about,” Sarah said carefully.

“Mishka works here, and Bruce is a local designer.

They’ve both been involved in the arts community events I mentioned.”

The second agent, introduced as Agent Martinez, had Sarah’s data spread across the table like evidence.

“Ms.

Classens, according to these readings, you were present at several locations when significant electromagnetic spikes occurred.

The community center, the estate grounds, even this building has shown unusual activity on nights when you worked late.”

Mishka forced herself to remain calm, drawing on techniques she’d learned for controlling her Siren voice.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying.

I attend galas, I work overtime occasionally.

If there are electrical issues around town, wouldn’t that be a city infrastructure problem?”

“That’s what we thought initially,” Martinez continued, pulling up a new screen.

“Until we started correlating the timing with other…

incidents.”

The screen showed a map of Eldergrove with colored dots marking various locations.

The community center, the estate, the grove—all marked with red indicators.

But there were other dots too, in places Mishka didn’t recognize.

Blue markers scattered throughout the region, some as far as the next county.

“Similar electromagnetic signatures have appeared in several communities over the past six months,” Richardson explained.

“Always centered around cultural venues, always coinciding with musical or artistic events.

And in each case, local residents report…

unusual experiences.”

Sarah leaned forward, her scientific curiosity overriding her obvious nervousness.

“What kind of experiences?”

“Enhanced creativity.

Unexplained animal behavior.

People claiming to hear music or voices when no source can be identified.” Martinez’s tone remained neutral, but Mishka caught the underlying intensity.

“We’re investigating whether there’s a coordinated effort to…

enhance certain individuals through unknown means.”

Bruce’s laugh was carefully controlled, but Mishka heard the edge in it.

“You think someone’s running experiments to make people more artistic?

That’s your theory?”

“We think someone has developed technology capable of manipulating bioelectromagnetic fields to influence human behavior,” Richardson replied.

“And we think Ms.

Chen might have information that could help us identify who’s responsible.”

The room fell silent.

Mishka realized they were at a crossroads—she could deny everything, try to deflect, or find a way to tell enough truth to satisfy them without exposing the supernatural community.

“Agent Richardson,” she said finally, “I think there might be a misunderstanding about what you’re detecting.”

Sarah’s eyes widened slightly, but she remained quiet.

Bruce’s hand found Mishka’s under the table, a subtle show of support.

“The electromagnetic readings aren’t from external technology,” Mishka continued.

“They’re natural phenomena.

Eldergrove sits on what geologists call a ‘resonance pocket’—mineral deposits that can amplify certain types of energy under the right conditions.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

The supernatural power that flowed through Eldergrove was natural, even if it wasn’t geological.

Martinez pulled up another screen.

“Natural phenomena don’t explain the correlation with specific individuals.

According to Ms.

Torres’s data, the strongest readings consistently occur when you’re present.”

“Some people are more sensitive to electromagnetic fields than others,” Sarah jumped in, her engineering background lending credibility.

“Mishka’s always been unusually attuned to electrical systems.

It’s why she’s so good with sensor calibration.”

Richardson made a note in his tablet.

“Sensitive enough to influence the fields themselves?”

Before Mishka could respond, Bruce’s phone buzzed with an urgent text.

He glanced at it, his expression darkening.

“Everything alright?” Agent Martinez asked, noticing Bruce’s reaction.

“Family emergency,” Bruce said smoothly, but Mishka caught the tension in his voice.

“I need to make a quick call.”

Richardson nodded toward the door.

“Use the hallway.

We’re almost finished here anyway.”

Once Bruce stepped out, Martinez leaned forward.

“Ms.

Classens, we know this is overwhelming.

But if there’s technology out there that can do what we’re seeing, we need to understand it.

The applications for national security alone…”

“Or the risks,” Richardson added.

“If someone can manipulate human behavior on this scale, without people even realizing it’s happening, that’s a threat we can’t ignore.”

Mishka felt the weight of their attention, the assumption that she was either a victim or a perpetrator.

Neither agent seemed to consider that she might be something else entirely.

“What would you need from me?” she asked carefully.

“Cooperation,” Martinez said.

“Continued monitoring, detailed reports of any unusual experiences.

If you’re naturally sensitive to these fields, you could be our early warning system.”

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

They wanted her to help them detect supernatural activity, not realizing she was the source of much of what they were measuring.

Bruce returned, his expression carefully neutral but his posture tense.

“Sorry about that.

Family situation resolved.”

Richardson stood, gathering his materials.

“Ms.

Classens, we’d like to install some additional monitoring equipment around locations where you spend time.

With your permission, of course.

It would help us understand these natural phenomena better.”

“What kind of equipment?” Sarah asked, her protective instincts kicking in.

“Non-invasive sensors, similar to what Ms.

Torres uses but more sensitive.

They’d be virtually invisible, and the data would help us determine whether these readings pose any health risks to the community.”

Mishka’s mind raced.

Agreeing might give them some control over what the agents discovered, but it would also mean constant surveillance.

Refusing would look suspicious and might lead to more aggressive investigation.

“I’d need to think about it,” she said finally.

“This is all very unexpected.”

“Of course.

We’ll be in town for a few more days, setting up baseline measurements.

Here’s my card.” Richardson handed her a business card with a generic government seal.

“We appreciate your cooperation.”

After the agents left, the three of them sat in the empty conference room, processing what had just happened.

“Well,” Sarah said finally, “that was terrifying.

Please tell me you have some idea what they’re really after.”

Bruce pulled out his phone, showing them the text that had interrupted the meeting.

It was from Julian: Estate cleared for now, but they’re asking questions in town.

Mrs.

Callahan says strangers were asking about the galas.

The man with the pendant disappeared.

“They’re not just investigating random electromagnetic anomalies,” Bruce said grimly.

“Someone pointed them in our direction.”

“The man with the pendant,” Mishka realized.

“He wasn’t watching us—he was reporting on us.”

Sarah looked between them, her engineering mind working through the implications.

“Okay, I need the whole story now.

Because those readings they showed me?

I’ve been tracking similar patterns for months, and they’re not coming from any technology I recognize.

If there’s something you two aren’t telling me about what’s really happening in this town…”

Mishka met Bruce’s eyes, seeing her own uncertainty reflected there.

The careful balance they’d been building—supernatural community integration, normal relationships, the hope of bridging worlds—suddenly felt fragile.

“Sarah,” she said quietly, “what would you say if I told you the electromagnetic readings you’ve been detecting aren’t from technology at all?”

“I’d say that’s impossible.

Energy signatures that complex don’t occur naturally.”

“What if they do?” Bruce asked.

“What if there are natural phenomena science hasn’t fully documented yet?”

Sarah was quiet for a long moment, studying the data still displayed on her laptop screen.

“I’d say that would be the discovery of the century.

And I’d want to understand it properly before anyone else tries to weaponize it.”

She looked up at them both, her expression serious.

“These federal agents—they’re not here to study natural phenomena.

They’re here because someone told them this area has strategic value.

Whatever you two are involved in, it’s bigger than small-town arts community drama.”

Mishka felt the weight of decision settling on her shoulders again.

Tell Sarah the truth and risk exposing everyone, or continue the deception and risk losing her help when they might need it most.

“Sarah,” she said carefully, “if I told you that the people in this community—some of us—are naturally capable of generating those electromagnetic signatures you’ve been measuring, what would that mean to you?”

Sarah’s eyes widened slightly, but her response was immediate.

“It would mean you’re all in serious danger.

Because if the government thinks you’re weapons instead of people, they won’t be asking for cooperation much longer.”

Outside, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across VoltCore’s parking lot, but the peaceful morning felt like a memory from another lifetime.

The federal agents’ cars were gone, but Mishka couldn’t shake the feeling they were still being watched.

“We need to warn the others,” Bruce said as they headed for his car.

“If they’re investigating the entire community…”

“The pack can protect themselves,” Mishka replied, though her voice carried doubt.

“But what about everyone else?

Julian’s family, the Crafts, even Mrs.

Callahan—they’re not prepared for federal scrutiny.”

As they drove back toward the estate, Mishka’s pendant pulsed steadily, a rhythm that seemed to match her heartbeat.

The integration Layla had been so optimistic about suddenly felt like exposure, and the bridge between worlds she’d hoped to build might have become a target instead.

Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: The Department of Unusual Phenomena isn’t the only group interested in your abilities.

Some of us remember the old ways.

Meet me at the oak grove at midnight if you want answers about who’s really hunting you.

Mishka showed the message to Bruce, whose expression darkened as he read.

“The man with the pendant,” he said grimly.

“He’s not working with the federal agents.

He’s working against them.”

“Is that better or worse?” Mishka asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

“With our luck?

Probably both.”

As they turned onto the estate’s tree-lined drive, Mishka’s pendant suddenly flared hot against her skin.

Bruce slammed on the brakes, his enhanced senses picking up something she couldn’t yet detect.

“What is it?”

“Smoke,” he said, his nostrils flaring.

“And blood.”

Through the windshield, they could see Julian’s house in the distance, but something was wrong with the light.

Where warm afternoon sun should have been filtering through the windows, an angry orange glow flickered instead.

Bruce’s phone exploded with notifications—texts from pack members, missed calls, voicemails piling up.

He put the car in park with shaking hands as Mishka grabbed his phone, scrolling through the messages.

Julian’s house is burning—Layla

Can’t find Mrs.

Callahan—Milla

Federal agents left twenty minutes before the fire started—Jean

Pack scattered, regrouping at safe house—Unknown number

“It’s coordinated,” Mishka whispered, her Siren voice humming with barely controlled panic.

“The investigation, the fire, the mysterious messages—someone’s been planning this.”

Bruce’s eyes flashed amber in the dim car interior.

“The man with the pendant.

He wasn’t just watching us—he was timing everything.” His voice dropped to a growl.

“They used the federal agents as a distraction while they moved against the community.”

In the distance, sirens wailed as fire trucks approached, but Mishka could see it was too late.

Julian’s house was fully engulfed, and the flames were spreading toward the grove.

Toward the hidden entrance to the Resonance Engine.

“Bruce,” she said, ice forming in her stomach, “what if they’re not trying to capture us?

What if they’re trying to destroy everything we’ve built?”

Her phone buzzed again with another message from the unknown number: The grove burns at dawn.

Choose quickly—join us, or burn with them.