"Of course you are."

She drove through.

In her rearview mirror, she saw him reach for his radio.

Again.

She memorized his face.

That night, Talia accessed the gate's digital logs.

Her name had been flagged.

Not as a security threat.

As a "resident requiring enhanced verification."

The classification had been entered manually.

By an administrator.

She copied the record.

Then she opened another system.

The HOA database.

Her own file had been accessed eleven times in nine days.

The official explanation was routine administrative review.

Talia knew better.

Someone was digging.

Three weeks into her assignment, she began noticing the SUV.

Black.

Large.

No visible markings.

Tinted windows.

The first time, she saw it in her mirror after leaving a grocery store.

It remained three cars behind her for nearly ten minutes.

She turned.

The SUV turned.

She changed lanes.

It changed lanes.

Talia made an unexpected exit.

The SUV continued straight.

Coincidence.

Perhaps.

The second time, the same vehicle appeared outside a coffee shop.

The third time, it followed her from a research facility.

Different day.

Different location.

Same vehicle.

That stopped being coincidence.

One evening, she deliberately drove through a confusing series of residential streets.

The SUV stayed behind her.

Talia turned into a gas station.

The SUV passed.

She waited.

Three minutes later, it returned.

Her pulse remained steady.

Her training took over.

Observe.

Record.

Don't confront.

At 2:47 the following morning, Talia stood behind her bedroom curtains.

The street was empty.

Then the black SUV appeared.

It moved slowly past her house.

Very slowly.

The driver's window lowered.

A camera appeared.

Flash.

A bright burst of white light reflected across Talia's front door.

The SUV continued into the darkness.

Talia didn't move.

She waited until the sound of the engine disappeared.

Then she returned to her laptop.

She accessed the HOA database through the back door she had planted earlier.

Her file opened.

Property information.

Purchase records.

Emergency contact.

Move-in date.

Employment.

Then she saw something new.

At the bottom of the metadata was a red entry.

STATUS MONITOR

Talia stared at the words.

They hadn't been there yesterday.

She took a screenshot.

Then another.

Her phone vibrated.

Her handler.

"Monroe."

"I'm listening."

"Anything?"

"Escalation."

"How serious?"

"I don't know yet."

"Do not expose yourself."

"I won't."

"Then keep collecting."

The call ended.

Talia closed her laptop.

She sat in silence.

For the first time since entering the neighborhood, she considered the possibility that her cover had been compromised.

Then came the package.

It arrived Tuesday afternoon.

A small cardboard box.

Talia heard it hit the porch.

Thirty seconds later, she opened the door.

She immediately noticed the tape.

The original seal had been sliced open.

Then resealed.

Badly.

She carried the box inside.

Her order contained nothing dangerous.

A yoga mat.

Resistance bands.

She opened the box and inspected every item.

Nothing missing.

That made it worse.

Someone had opened the package simply to see what was inside.

Talia checked the gate records.

No visitors.

No delivery exceptions.

No unauthorized vehicles.

Only residents and authorized personnel had entered.

Someone inside the community had opened her package.

Six days later, she returned home to find all four tires on her SUV destroyed.

Not punctured.

Slashed.

Deep cuts through the sidewalls.

Talia stood in the driveway.

Her breathing slowed.

She looked at the security camera.

Camera Eleven.

She accessed the recording.

The footage showed her driveway clearly.

Until 3:14 a.m.

Then static.

Eight minutes of gray noise.

At 3:22, the picture returned.

Perfectly clear.

Her tires had been destroyed during those eight minutes.

Talia walked to the security station.

"Can I see the footage?"

The guard frowned.

"Which footage?"

"Camera Eleven."

He pulled it up.

The static appeared.

"Camera glitch," he said.

"All the other cameras worked."

"Power surge."

"Interesting."

He looked at her.

"I'll file a report."

Talia knew he wouldn't.

That afternoon, she received an HOA violation.

Pool Rules Violation.

She hadn't used the pool.

Not once.

She opened her encrypted FBI case file.

Then she cross-referenced her address with Sentinel Point's server traffic.

A match appeared.

Her address had been flagged on a private watch list.

The same system her investigation was targeting.

Talia stared at the screen.

The words were simple.

HIGH PRIORITY MONITOR.

She leaned back.

The harassment was no longer random.

She wasn't merely being watched.

She was being classified.

And someone had decided she was dangerous.

Talia opened a secure message window.

She typed four words.

Red layer forming.

Then she sent it.

Across town, Richard Halden sat alone in his home office.

He opened an encrypted application.

There was no logo.

No contact list.

Just a black screen.

A blinking cursor.

Halden typed:

The subject is active.

He pressed send.

Then he closed the application.

He didn't know that someone had already begun tracing his communications.

And he certainly didn't know that Talia Monroe was waiting for him to make one mistake.

Talia had been in Sycamore Bend Estates for twenty-three days.

She was exhausted.

Not the ordinary kind of tired.

The kind that lived behind the eyes.

The kind that made sleep shallow and silence suspicious.

She slept in three-hour fragments.

Every unusual sound woke her.

Every vehicle outside her window received her attention.

Every unknown phone number was treated as potentially significant.

She wore her FBI communication device almost constantly.

Even when sleeping.

Even when showering.

Even when sitting alone.

The case was consuming her.

On Saturday morning, however, something strange happened.

Nothing.