LOGINKhione Louelita Silay. That was the name given to her by one of the nuns at the orphanage where she grew up. It was a name that carried no ties to a family, no connection to a past she could return to—only the identity of a girl who had learned to survive on her own.
Now, seated in her small yet comfortable townhouse, Khione let out a deep sigh of relief. “Three months of pleading, begging, and finally...” She clenched her fists in excitement. “They let me work from home!” She nearly wanted to collapse in joy. It was the best thing that had happened to her since joining the National Bureau of Investigation’s Counter Intelligence Department. The NBI had recruited her three months ago because of her exceptional skills in computer information technology. However, what the government didn’t officially acknowledge was that she was also one of the most skilled hackers they had ever encountered. Her job required absolute secrecy. Her identity had to remain protected at all costs. The Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD) had taken Khione away from her neglectful parents at a young age. She was no older than four or five when she was placed under their care, and from there, she had been sent to an orphanage. No one came to claim her; no relatives stepped forward to take her in. She had spent her entire childhood within the orphanage’s walls until she graduated from school. It was at that orphanage where her unusual talent was first discovered. At the age of ten, with nothing but an old, barely functioning computer, she had hacked into a government website—without even fully understanding what she was doing. Her actions had caused the site to go offline for an entire week. The government, intrigued by the sudden cyberattack, traced the source back to the orphanage. But instead of punishment, they made her an offer: education in exchange for service. The deal had shaped her entire future. Now, at twenty years old, she already owned her townhouse, a privilege granted by her employers. However, her salary had been significantly cut, with the excuse that her education had been an investment. It was clear to her—they had no intention of paying her what she was truly worth. According to the agreement she had signed upon graduating from university, she was required to work for the NBI Counter Intelligence Department for five years. It was a contract she had no choice but to fulfill. But even with her talent, even with her intelligence, there was something Khione struggled with. Something that made her daily life unbearable outside the safety of her home. Social anxiety disorder. A persistent, overwhelming fear of being watched, judged, or ridiculed. It affected her in ways that many would never understand. Simple interactions left her paralyzed. Meeting new people sent her into a state of panic. Her mind would go completely blank whenever she was forced into a conversation. She knew people found it strange—how could a genius hacker be afraid of talking to people? But it was who she was. She had been like this since childhood, no matter how many psychologists had tried to help her. Even her job interview for the NBI had been a disaster. She had sat there trembling, unable to say a single coherent word in front of the department director. She had been completely frozen, overwhelmed by the weight of their stares. But despite her failure, she had still been hired. Because the higher-ups wanted her. And now, she was finally working in the only place where she felt comfortable. Home. “This is a good life!” Khione stretched her arms with satisfaction. Inside her house, she was free. No awkward conversations. No judgmental stares. No anxiety eating away at her. Even when she had lived at the orphanage, she had always preferred to stay inside. Other children had tried to befriend her, but she would run away before they could even say a full sentence. The only person she had ever trusted was Sister Faith, the nun who had acted as her mother figure. She had never needed friends. She was better off alone. Khione’s thoughts were interrupted by a message notification on her screen. One of her coworkers had sent her a chat. She stared at the message for a moment—then ignored it. “Why do they keep trying? They already know what my answer will be.” She considered closing the chat tab altogether. Instead, she logged into the NBI portal and checked her assigned tasks for the day. A large, bold word appeared on her screen: AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED She sighed and opened her security device to verify her identity. Within seconds, the system granted her access. Her stomach twisted as she saw the first assignment waiting in her queue. She knew this was going to be bad. Khione bit her lip, inhaling sharply before clicking the file open. Her screen was immediately flooded with graphic images and classified reports. Her stomach churned. “What the hell is this?” she muttered, covering her mouth with one hand. The photographs were horrifying. Bruised and battered children. Teenagers with vacant, lifeless expressions. Medical reports detailing sexual abuse. Documents exposing human trafficking networks selling them to wealthy clients. Khione swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep reading. This was beyond horrifying. And then she saw something else. A list of potential suspects. She clicked on the names—and her blood ran cold. Politicians. High-ranking officials. CEOs of powerful corporations. She exhaled sharply. “Of course... of course they’re involved,” she whispered, gripping her desk. This wasn’t just some underground crime syndicate. This was systematic. Organized. Protected. “Why do I have to be the one handling this?” Khione leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. It didn’t make sense. She was just a hacker. A specialist in cyber intelligence. And yet... They had given her this case. “Are they... are they using me as bait?” The thought sent a chill down her spine. She stood up abruptly and walked to her small kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. She needed to think. But no matter how hard she tried to shake it off, something about this case felt personal. Then it hit her. The orphanage. She froze mid-sip. She remembered it now. Children had gone missing. Back then, they had been told it was just bad luck. That some kids ran away. That some were taken in by families. But... Has that been a lie? Khione’s fingers trembled as she set her glass down. She forced herself to return to her desk. She couldn’t let her emotions cloud her judgment. She opened a coding window and began typing, her fingers moving with mechanical precision. As she worked, another thought crept into her mind. A memory. A nightmare. The very reason she was here today. And the terrifying truth she had spent her whole life trying to forget.The morning it happened, nobody noticed at first. That was appropriate.The best changes in the north house rarely arrived with speeches or anything dramatic enough to deserve witnesses. They came disguised as inconvenience, noise, crumbs, missing socks, two children arguing over a pencil sharpener as if inheritance law were involved, or Rosa muttering the names of saints under her breath because someone—almost certainly Eiji—had brought mud into the kitchen and then denied the existence of weather.This morning began with bread. Burnt bread, specifically. Ezra was responsible.Louelita knew that before she had even opened her eyes fully because the smell drifting through the upstairs hall had none of Rosa’s authority in it. Rosa burned nothing unless the world was ending, and even then she would probably apologize to the pan.This was a man’s mistake. A confident one. A man who had underestimated heat because he was reading a briefing while claiming to “watch the toast.”She sat up i
The first time all of the children fit around one table, the house nearly lost the argument with itself.Not because the table was too small, but because adulthood was.That was the truth of it, Louelita thought as she stood in the kitchen doorway and watched chaos slowly gather shape in the dining room. The space had once belonged to polished dinners, donor-perfect flowers, carefully folded napkins, and adults who knew exactly which fork to use while discussing things they preferred to keep respectable. Now it belonged, correctly, to jam, soup, sharpened pencils, missing socks, mismatched bowls, and children who had absolutely no interest in maintaining the dignity of furniture.Ezra stood beside her with one hand tucked into his pocket and the other holding a plate Rosa had told him to carry several minutes ago. Somehow, despite possessing the organizational ability to move entire operations without losing track of a single detail, he had still not managed to set it down.“You’re bl
The first person Noel trusted with silence was not Louelita.It was not Rosa either.It was Louie, and that surprised almost everyone except Louelita. She had been watching the shape of the house more carefully than the adults around her realized, paying attention not only to who the children approached but also to whom they allowed themselves to simply exist beside. Somewhere along the way, she had begun to understand that frightened children often trusted people in the middle before they trusted the obvious centers of safety.Louie lived in the middle.He was not fully a child anymore, but he was not fully an adult either. He was not soft in the theatrical way some grown-ups tried to be when children frightened them, coating every word in sweetness until kindness itself began to feel suspicious. Neither was he armed with authority, at least not the kind that announced itself in doorways and changed the air simply by entering.Louie was just there.He was on sofas, in hallways, at th
The trouble began with a form.That, Louelita would later insist, was how all the worst adult ideas entered rooms meant for children. They rarely arrived through shouting or open cruelty anymore. Those things were too obvious, too easy to recognize for what they were.The dangerous ideas came quietly.They came through paperwork.It was raining that afternoon in the soft, determined way the season preferred, steady enough to silver the back windows but light enough that the children could still hear one another over it if they argued properly. Water threaded slowly down the glass, blurring the garden beyond into green and gray.The dining room had long since stopped functioning as an actual dining room. Occupation had transformed it into a worktable, an art station, a negotiation zone, and occasionally a battlefield over whose pencil had been whose first. Crayons lived there permanently now, along with soup stains, half-finished reading sheets, folded paper animals, and one chipped gr
The first time Ezra knocked on a child’s door, the whole house heard it.Not because the sound was particularly loud, but because it was Ezra making it.Men like Ezra did not usually knock inside homes they had bled to build. They entered. Quietly, perhaps, and carefully when the room required it, but they still carried the old certainty of men who had spent most of their lives becoming the kind of force doors did not meaningfully resist. A closed door had always been an obstacle, a boundary to assess and cross when necessary, never something that required permission from the person on the other side.So when his knuckles touched the wood of the east room at half past midnight and produced three low, measured taps, the house seemed to listen.Louelita heard it from the sitting room sofa, where she had been reading the same page for nearly ten minutes without turning it. The book rested open across her lap, but the words had long since stopped entering her mind. Rosa sat in the armchai
By the time the rains came properly, the north house no longer sounded temporary.That was not the same as saying it sounded healed. Louelita had learned to distrust adults who used that word too early, as though naming recovery could somehow hurry it into existence. The old line had loved early words. Stabilized, improved, adjusted, and safe. Every one of them had been laid over a wound before the body beneath it had finished deciding whether it wanted to keep living in the same shape.So no, the north house was not healed.But it had become itself, and Louelita had come to understand that this mattered far more than any clean word someone might have written on an assessment form.The first sign had been the hallway lamps. In the beginning, they stayed on because the children asked for them. Then they stayed on because no one remembered to argue about whether they were necessary. Eventually, one evening three months later, Louie changed a bulb in the upstairs east hall without being
Ezra Velleoti had always sought solace in the sea. It was the only place that gave him a sense of peace, a refuge from the suffocating demands of his work. As the leader of the Velleoti Mafia, his life was a relentless cycle of violence, deception, and power plays. But out here, away from the chao
Louelita’s screams echoed through the car, raw with desperation as she fought against the iron grip of the man trying to drag her out. His rough hands yanked at her mercilessly, his breath reeking of smoke and sweat as he snarled in frustration.“You’re really making this difficult for me, huh?!” h
"Why the hell do I have to get involved in this mess?" Louelita muttered under her breath, frustration lacing every word as she hurriedly gathered supplies in the supermarket. She had tried to put off going outside for as long as possible, but her food stock had finally run out. She had even consi
“Boss, they’ve arrived.”The voice of Erza Slain Velleoti’s right-hand man was low, cautious, as if uttering those words too loudly might summon something dangerous. Ezra took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember at the tip burning bright in the dimly lit room. He exhaled a plume of smoke, wa







