“He cried a little when we arrived, but Momi sang him a song.The one you taught her.”Armita’s voice warmed.“She does love being a big sister.”
Sophie felt a tightness in her chest—not guilt, but fierce protectiveness and joy.Her children were adapting, surviving, just as she’d had to do while growing up in Thailand.She’d been tugged between her American ambassador father with his long absences, and a mother who suffered chronic depression while living a secret life.
“Sophie,” Armita said gently.“The children are strong.Like their mother.But strength doesn’t mean we have to carry everything alone.”
Armita had been Sophie’s nanny before she became her children’s.Sophie had brought Armita into her home not just for her training with children, background as a ninja, and cooking skills, but for the deeper level of commitment and love they shared.Armita understood without judgment, offered support without pity.She was another survivor of the evil that was Sophie’s mother.She too had rebuilt her life far from where it started; there was much only Armita really understood about what Sophie had lived through in the past.
“Thank you,” Sophie said.“For taking care of them.And me too.”
Armita smiled, the expression transforming her narrow, serious face.“Family takes care of each other.”She poured them each a mug from the pot Sophie had started.“Speaking of, here’s your tea.Strong as you like it.”
Sophie gave the woman a brief hug and took the fragrant beverage, heading to the private office Pierre jokingly called her “Batcave.”
The room was a converted bedroom, windows covered with blackout curtains, walls lined with servers and monitors, floor covered in sound-absorbing matting.This inner sanctum was where Sophie the mother became Sophie the tech expert, using skills she’d always had a natural talent with.
Sophie settled into her chair, bringing her systems online.Six monitors flickered to life, displaying feeds from various sources as she activated her three computers: Jinjai, Amara, and Ying.
The house’s security cameras showed peaceful scenes—Sean sprawled in his crib, Momi curled in bed with her favorite stuffed elephant.
But it was the monitor holding the case file that drew her attention.She activated the file, pulling up digital evidence from the museum thefts, surveillance footage from nearby businesses, and traffic cameras from routes between the targeted locations.She’d spent years building her network of access—some legal, some in grey areas.
“Show me what I’m missing,” she murmured, fingers flying across the keyboard.
She pulled up the footage from the Bishop Museum theft first, running it through enhancement filters she’d developed herself.There—a shadow that didn’t quite match the lighting.A reflection in a display case that showed movement where there should have been none.
The work was good.Better than good.They’d edited the security footage in real-time, creating a perfect loop that showed empty galleries while they did the job.
But perfection itself was a signature, and Sophie had learned long ago that everyone had tells.
She isolated the timestamp discrepancies, overlaying them with code analysis from the signal interceptor.A pattern emerged—subtle, almost musical in its rhythm.
Her breath caught as recognition dawned.
“No,” she whispered, but her fingers were already moving, pulling up archived data from her past life.
The Yam Khûmk?n’s technical division had been legendary in certain circles.Their encryption methods, their signal manipulation techniques, their ability to make technology bend to their will—it had been one of Connor’s most valuable assets.Sophie had been given access during their time together, had learned from masters of the craft.
She pulled up comparison algorithms, letting her program analyze the signatures.The match came back at 94.7%—too high to be coincidence, too low to be the original source.
Someone had learned from the Yam Khûmk?n’s methods.Someone with access to their techniques but not quite their level of mastery.A student rather than a teacher.
Sophie frowned, thinking through possibilities.Connor’s organization had begun fracturing after his departure when he came to live with her.Some had waited for him and been rewarded when he returned.Others had scattered to the winds.But some might be, even now, working against him by trying to get to her.
The theft pattern wasn’t random.She’d known that from the start.But now she saw another layer.The stolen artifacts weren’t just valuable or culturally significant.Each one had a connection to warrior traditions, royalty, and protection: the values of the Yam Khûmk?n.Someone was building a collection with a purpose.
Sophie pulled up the museum’s network architecture, her programs sliding through firewalls like water through silk.There—a backdoor, elegantly hidden but not invisible to someone who knew what to look for.The coding style was familiar.“Son of a pox-ridden yak,” she murmured in Thai.“Who are you, and what do you have to do with the Yam Khûmk?n?”
Sophie began a deeper dive into the museum’s systems, documenting every trace of intrusion.If she was right—if someone from Connor’s former organization was involved—then the thefts were, indeed, targeting her somehow.
The Yam Khûmk?n never did anything without layers of purpose.If the burglars were a faction, there was an endgame she hadn’t seen yet—but it was time to talk to Connor about it.
She glanced at the security feed showing her children sleeping peacefully.Whatever was coming, whoever was behind this, they’d made a mistake.They’d threatened her family.
The computer chimed softly—another anomaly detected, this one in the Bishop Museum’s HVAC system.Sophie leaned forward, eyes narrowing.Someone had been mapping the museum’s infrastructure for weeks, learning its rhythms, its vulnerabilities.
“Got you,” she whispered, documenting the digital fingerprint.
She saved her work to encrypted drives, then began the careful process of covering her own tracks.Old habits and hard-learned lessons: always clean up after yourself.Never leave a trail that could lead anyone back to you.
