Chapter 227: 227 The Break-In

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227: The Break-In 227: The Break-In Mishka woke to the sound of Bruce’s growl—low, dangerous, and utterly inhuman.

She bolted upright in bed, heart hammering.

Bruce was already on his feet, his body tense, eyes glowing amber in the darkness.

His nostrils flared, scenting the air.

“Someone’s been in the house,” he said quietly.

“Recently.

Within the last hour.”

“That’s impossible.” Mishka reached for her phone on the nightstand.

“The security system would have—” She stopped.

The screen showed no alerts, no breach warnings.

According to the system, every door and window was secure, had been all night.

Bruce was already moving through the bedroom, his predator’s senses scanning every corner.

“I’m not wrong.

Someone was here.

The scent is fresh.”

Mishka’s skin crawled.

She grabbed the baseball bat she kept beside the bed—a laughably mundane weapon given the threats they faced, but it made her feel slightly less vulnerable.

“Should we call Julian?”

“Already texted him.” Bruce moved to the bedroom door, opening it carefully.

The hallway beyond was dark and silent.

“Stay behind me.”

They moved through the house room by room.

Everything appeared normal.

The front door was locked from the inside, chain engaged.

Windows were secured.

Nothing seemed disturbed or out of place.

But Bruce’s tension didn’t ease, and Mishka found herself noticing small details that felt wrong.

A kitchen cabinet that was slightly ajar when she always closed them completely.

The living room curtain pulled back a few inches more than she remembered.

The faint chemical smell in the bathroom that didn’t match any of her products.

“Here,” Bruce said from her home office.

He stood in the doorway, blocking her view.

“Mishka, maybe you shouldn’t—”

She pushed past him and froze.

Her office looked untouched at first glance.

Computer on the desk, books on shelves, filing cabinets against the wall.

But someone had been through everything.

She could see it in the way papers were stacked—too neat, too precise.

The books were in the wrong order.

And her desk drawer, the one where she kept personal documents, sat open a quarter inch.

Mishka pulled it fully open with shaking hands.

Inside was chaos—papers rifled through, items moved, her passport examined and carelessly replaced.

Whoever had done this hadn’t tried to hide their intrusion.

They wanted her to know they’d been here.

“They were looking for something,” Bruce said, pulling out his phone to photograph the scene.

“Information, maybe.

Evidence.”

Mishka moved to her computer.

The screen saver activated when she touched the mouse, but the system showed no signs of being accessed.

Except…

“My VoltCore work laptop.

Where is it?”

They searched the office, then the entire house.

The laptop was gone.

Julian arrived fifteen minutes later with two members of his security team.

He examined the scene with professional efficiency, his expression growing grimmer with each observation.

“No forced entry,” he noted.

“No alarm triggers.

Either they’re exceptionally skilled at bypassing security systems, or…”

“Or what?” Mishka asked.

“Or they had help from inside.

Someone who knew your security codes, your daily routine, when you’d be asleep and vulnerable.”

The implication hung in the air like poison.

A traitor within Eldergrove.

“We need to check the security footage,” Bruce said.

They went to Julian’s office in the security building, where banks of monitors displayed feeds from cameras throughout Eldergrove.

Julian pulled up footage from the previous night, focusing on Mishka’s house.

For hours, nothing.

Then, at 2:47 AM, a figure appeared on screen walking calmly up Mishka’s front walkway.

They wore dark clothing and a hood that obscured their face.

But what made Mishka’s breath catch was how they moved—no hesitation, no nervousness.

They walked up to her front door and simply…

opened it.

No picking the lock, no forcing entry.

The door opened as if they had a key.

The figure disappeared inside.

The timestamp showed they remained for exactly eighteen minutes.

Then they emerged, carrying what looked like Mishka’s laptop, and walked away into the darkness between houses where camera coverage was limited.

“Run facial recognition,” Julian ordered one of his team members.

“And track their route through the community.

I want to know how they got in and how they got out.”

But Mishka was focused on something else.

The way the figure moved—there was something familiar about it, though she couldn’t quite place what.

“Enhance the image,” she said.

“Their hands.

When they’re carrying the laptop.”

Julian zoomed in.

The figure’s sleeves had ridden up slightly, revealing a wrist, but no identifying features were visible.

Julian’s team member looked up from his computer.

“Sir, facial recognition came back with nothing.

Whoever this is, they’re not in our database.

But I tracked their route.

They entered through the south gate using a valid resident access code.”

“Whose code?” Bruce demanded.

“That’s the problem, sir.

The code has been cycling through the system.

It matches the pattern of codes issued to new residents in the past six months, but it’s been modified.

Someone with technical knowledge altered it to work without triggering identity verification.”

“So we have a mole,” Duncan said.

He’d arrived sometime during the investigation, drawn by the alert.

“Someone with access to our security systems, who knows how to bypass them.

Someone who’s been here long enough to understand the routines, the protocols.”

Mishka felt sick.

“How many people have that level of access?”

“Too many,” Julian admitted.

“Anyone who’s worked with the security team, anyone who’s helped with technical installations, anyone who’s been here long enough to observe and learn.” He looked at Mishka.

“What was on the laptop?”

Mishka’s stomach dropped.

“Everything.

My correspondence with the Covenant.

Duncan’s investigation notes that I was reviewing.

Security protocols for Eldergrove.

Personal information about residents.” She looked at Bruce, seeing her horror reflected in his face.

“Emma’s training schedule and the assessment of her abilities that Dr.

Harrison sent me to review.”

“We need to lock down the community,” Julian said immediately.

“If Jean has that information—”

An alarm began to wail—not Eldergrove’s general security alarm, but something worse.

The emergency evacuation signal.

Julian’s radio exploded with voices.

“Multiple breaches at the north and east gates—” “Armed intruders entering through—” “They’re using some kind of jamming device, communications are—”

The transmission cut to static.

Bruce was already shifting, his body blurring as he gave in to his werewolf nature.

“They’re using the information from the laptop.

They know exactly when guards rotate, where the weak points are.”

“This is psychological warfare,” Duncan said, pulling out a gun from his jacket.

“The break-in wasn’t just about the laptop—it was about making Mishka feel violated, unsafe in her own home.

Making all of us paranoid about who we can trust.

And now while we’re reeling, divided, suspicious of each other—”

“They attack,” Mishka finished.

She ran to the window.

In the distance, she could see lights—too many lights, moving through Eldergrove’s streets in coordinated patterns.

This wasn’t a probing assault.

This was an invasion.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

She answered, already knowing who it would be.

“Did you like my gift?” Jean’s voice was smooth, satisfied.

“That feeling of violation, of knowing someone walked through your home while you slept?

That someone in your community is working for me?

That’s what the Sirens I’ve captured feel every day.

I thought you should understand.”

“What do you want, Jean?”

“I want you to appreciate the position you’re in.

Your community is under attack.

You have a traitor in your midst—and no, I won’t tell you who.

Your secrets are mine.

Your security protocols are worthless.

And your friends are about to discover what happens when they stand against me.”

Through the window, Mishka saw figures in tactical gear moving through the streets.

Residents were emerging from homes, some in defensive positions, others fleeing toward the community center.

Emma stood on her front lawn, wards flaring around her in protective circles as her parents ushered other families toward safety.

“Your forces won’t get far,” Mishka said, watching Julian’s security teams engage the intruders.

“We have defenses, we have—”

“You have chaos,” Jean interrupted.

“Look closer.”

Mishka did.

And realized that some of the figures in tactical gear weren’t attacking—they were retreating.

Being driven back by Eldergrove’s defenders.

The assault was already failing.

“I don’t understand,” Mishka said slowly.

“Of course you don’t.

You’re thinking too small.” Jean’s voice held dark amusement.

“I didn’t send those people to capture Eldergrove.

I sent them to force you to defend it.

To make you reveal your full capabilities.

To show the world—which is watching, by the way—exactly how dangerous a concentrated supernatural community can be when threatened.”

Horror washed over Mishka.

“The media.

You tipped off the media.”

“Several networks, actually.

They’re broadcasting live from just outside your gates.

Cameras capturing everything—the magical defenses, the supernatural abilities, the violence.

After Milla’s touching documentary about peaceful integration, imagine how this will look.

A gated community of supernatural beings attacking humans.”

“You’re attacking us!”

“I’m sending in hired security consultants to investigate concerning activity in a residential area.

What happens to them is entirely your community’s responsibility.” Jean paused.

“Twenty-eight days left on my countdown, Mishka.

This was just day one.

Imagine what day twenty-eight will bring.”

The line went dead.

Mishka stared at her phone, then at the scene unfolding through the window.

Julian was right—this was psychological warfare.

The break-in, the unknown betrayer, the attack—all designed to destabilize, to frighten, to make them act rashly.

And outside their gates, cameras were recording everything.

“We need to control this,” Mishka said.

“Bruce, tell Julian to capture, not kill.

No lethal force.

We can’t give Jean the footage she wants of supernatural beings slaughtering humans.”

“They’re armed!” Bruce protested.

“I don’t care.

We defend, we disable, we capture.

But we don’t kill.” Mishka headed for the door.

“And I need to get to those cameras.

I need to tell our side of this before Jean’s narrative becomes the only one.”

Duncan blocked her path.

“You go out there, you become the target.

You’re the face of Eldergrove now.

The moment you step outside—”

“Is the moment I stop being a victim and start being a leader,” Mishka finished.

“This is my community.

Those are my people out there defending their homes.

I won’t hide while they fight.”

She ran out into the night, Bruce and Duncan flanking her.

The sounds of conflict echoed through Eldergrove’s usually peaceful streets—shouts, the crackle of magic, the sharp reports of gunfire.

But she also heard Julian’s voice over loudspeakers, ordering restraint.

Saw Emma’s wards protecting civilians.

Watched Mrs.

Pemberton and other witches working together to create barriers that contained rather than harmed the intruders.

The community was defending itself, but they were doing it her way.

With control.

With restraint.

With the cameras watching, Mishka prayed it would be enough.

But as she ran toward the gates, toward the media vans and the chaos and the trap Jean had so carefully laid, she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was going exactly according to Jean’s plan.

The break-in hadn’t been about stealing a laptop.

It had been about breaking their sense of safety, their trust in each other, their belief that Eldergrove was a sanctuary.

And somewhere among them, a traitor still walked free, watching, waiting, ready to strike again when Jean gave the order.

The question that haunted Mishka as she faced the cameras was simple and terrible: Who?

By the time Mishka reached the main gates, the situation had partially stabilized.

Julian’s security team had corralled the intruders into a contained area, using Emma’s wards and Mrs.

Pemberton’s barrier spells to prevent escape without causing serious harm.

The tactical precision of Eldergrove’s defenders was impressive—and unfortunately, exactly what Jean had wanted the cameras to capture.

Mishka could see the news vans parked just beyond the property line, their satellite dishes extended, cameras pointed at the community.

Reporters spoke urgently into microphones, narrating the “violent confrontation” unfolding before them.

She straightened her shoulders, aware that her hair was disheveled, that she was wearing pajamas and a hastily thrown-on jacket, that she probably looked exactly like someone who’d been awoken by a home invasion.

Good.

Let them see the reality of what Jean had done.

“I need to speak to the press,” she told Julian as he coordinated with his team via radio.

“Mishka, you’re not prepared—”

“I’m the face of this community.

If I don’t control the narrative right now, Jean wins.” She touched his arm.

“Trust me.”

Julian studied her for a moment, then nodded.

“Make it count.”

Mishka walked to the gates, aware of cameras swiveling to follow her movement.

She could feel Bruce’s protective presence behind her, could sense Emma’s magic humming through the wards, could hear Mrs.

Pemberton’s quiet chanting as she maintained the barriers.

A reporter thrust a microphone toward her.

“Ms.

Volkov, can you explain why supernatural beings are using violence against human security personnel?”

Mishka looked directly into the camera, her Siren nature lending weight to her words without compelling—she wanted people to listen, but she wanted them to choose to believe.

“What you’re witnessing is a community defending itself against a coordinated attack,” she said clearly.

“Less than three hours ago, someone broke into my home while I slept.

They stole sensitive information and left evidence they wanted me to know I’d been violated.

Then, armed personnel breached our gates using stolen access codes.

We didn’t invite this violence.

We’re responding to it—with restraint, with non-lethal force, because that’s who we are.”

“But the use of supernatural abilities—”.